One Mistake Too Many
by Straightjacketed
Summary: What would have happened if Boq's transformation had taken a turn for the downright monstrous?
1. Transformation Trauma

A/N: Well, ladies and gents, I've decided to take a short break from my current story. For those of you who are enjoying it, don't worry- it won't be extraordinarily long. In the meantime though, I've decided to take a look at how Boq's transformation could have been so much worse. It'll be a comparatively short story, but I'll be doing my best to pile on the horror. So, without further ado, here's my modest attempt at an AU!

Disclaimer: Wicked does not belong to me, and it never will.

* * *

Not for the first time that day, Elphaba wondered exactly what she'd been thinking when she'd returned home. Hours ago, while on the run from every single active guardsman in the country and running out of places to hide, it had seemed like a good idea; now, with Boq's convulsing body slumped in Nessa's discarded wheelchair and with less than a few minutes to find a spell that could save him before he died, she found herself wondering if she'd have been better off taking her chances with the guardsmen.

But at least there might be a chance to at least mitigate the damage done, if not erase it altogether; the question was, what spell out of the many hundreds within the Grimmerie could allow Boq to survive without a heart?

"What's happening to him, Elphaba?"

Elphaba only just stopped herself from flinching at the sound of Nessa's voice. "He's _dying_, Nessarose," she said, irritably. "It's a well-known consequence of having your heart shrunken out of existence. Now please, I need to concentrate: if I can't find a spell that can save him, he really will die."

As if in agreement, Boq let out a strangled gasp as another lungful of air escaped his failing body. Nessarose immediately hurried to his side, clutching his hand and sobbing apologies, begging him not to die and professing her love again and again.

Elphaba scarcely heard anything her sister was saying, having finally reached a chapter that might actually be useful: though her ability to translate the arcane language of the Grimmerie lacked fine tuning, she could tell that the spells in front of her were undoubtedly those of a very specific form of transformation. A second or two of examination revealed that they were instructions on how to convert a human body into elaborate constructs of wood, stone, or even metal. As none of the resultant constructs possessed blood, hearts, or any other internal organs for that matter, the spells sounded ideal for her purposes; the fact that the remade Boq would retain his capacity for thought and emotion just about guaranteed their use. With metal (specifically tin) appearing the most durable choice for the material composition of Boq's new body, Elphaba had found _exactly_ what she needed.

_Perhaps today hasn't been a total disaster after all,_ she thought wryly. "Nessa," she said urgently, "I'm going to need you to get out of the way, now- I think I've found our solution."

Nessarose almost leapt to her feet, her face alight with sudden hope. "What is it?" she hissed. "How soon can you cast it? What's going to-"

"Hush now for just a minute, _please_." She took a deep breath, and tried to speak firmly without sounding angry. "I've found a spell that can save Boq, yes, but it's going to involve a lot of complicated magic and a particularly drastic transformation. While I'm casting this, I have to keep my concentration at all times, which means that you need to keep quiet until I'm finished."

To Elphaba's mingled horror and exasperation, Nessa shook her head: "I should be the one casting the spell," she said softly. "This is my fault, after all; I'm the one who destroyed his heart in the first place-"

"And that happened because you read from the Grimmerie with no idea of how to properly pronounce the words of the spell, let alone cast them!" Elphaba burst out. "This is one of the most powerful books of magic ever written; you can't just read the words of an incantation without training and expect them to work: I've got a formal education in magic, and even I have to be careful with this book!" Nessa opened her mouth to protest, but Elphaba beat her to it: "This is no time for arguing: Boq has _minutes_ to live, and that's being optimistic, so would you please stand aside and _let me work?"_

"And it wasn't entirely your fault," she added, as Nessa shuffled contritely out of the way. "I was the one who left the damn book open."

Then, she began to chant, the words of the spell flowing gracefully through the air, weaving patterns of intricate and subtle magic around Boq as it slowly descended upon him; a gentle glow surrounded his slumped form, and he stirred briefly as-

Much later, Elphaba found herself able to explain Nessa's actions with relative ease: she was frightened, upset, clearly not thinking straight and eager to try and make up for her previous error. At the time, however, she hadn't the slightest clue why Nessarose had done something so patently insane- or the time to think about it, for that matter: the first thing Elphaba knew of her sister's decision was a sudden pain in the back of her head, and then darkness.

She awoke to find herself lying in the corridor outside; the study door was closed, and from behind it, she could hear the sound of Nessarose repeating the words of the spell as best as she could. Scrambling upright, Elphaba hurried to open the door- only to find it locked and presumably bolted as well.

"NESSA!" shouted Elphaba. "_If you really love Boq, you need to stop chanting, NOW!_"

The chanting continued, this time at a slightly higher volume.

"DON'T YOU REMEMBER WHAT HAPPENED A FEW MINUTES AGO? HE'LL BE LUCKY IF YOU ONLY MANAGE TO KILL HIM THIS TIME!"

If her sister had heard a word she'd said, she didn't seem interested in responding. Muttering obscenities, Elphaba stood back, and prepared to blast the door open...

* * *

Nessarose _had_, in fact, heard Elphaba's warning shouts. Unfortunately, she'd also been listening when Elphaba had told her that the spell required concentration, and was currently blocking out just about every single noise save for her own chanting: she wasn't prepared to fail when Boq's salvation was almost in reach. From the moment she'd peered behind the folding screen and witnessed her lover in the midst of his death throes, she'd known that the task of saving his life would fall to her.

Yes, she would save him, and once he'd recovered, there'd be apologies for all the hurt and all the arguments and they'd forgive each other, and then Boq would finally see that they were truly meant for each other- no, more than that: they_ deserved_ each other.

She'd taken about thirty seconds to knock Elphaba out with a tea tray, drag her outside, then lock, bolt, and barricade the door; then, scarcely daring to think in a different direction, she'd scooped up the Grimmerie from where it had fallen, found the page, and began to chant.

This time, the casting wasn't so haphazard; this time, she at least had some idea of how to properly pronounce the words of the spell, having been careful enough to listen to Elphaba read them before knocking her out. And this time, the intoxicating rush of magic pouring into the air was much more potent and far more prolonged; she could feel it coursing towards Boq, sliding under his clothes and permeating his flesh, slowly transforming him.

Yes, she could see the changes taking place even now! In places, his skin was already starting to take on a slightly metallic sheen; his right hand, sprawled across one wheel of her wheelchair, was beginning to slowly reshape itself into a jointed tin replica- somewhat stylized, but judging by the twitching fingers, perfectly functional. Even the basic shape of his body was distorting under his uniform, growing and shifting and warping...

And then, without warning, Boq stirred, and opened his eyes.

Nessarose expected him to start asking questions, to want to know what had just happened to him; she expected him to ask why his body was beginning to appear so mechanical; she expected that he would at least thank her for saving his life, once she had finished chanting the spell, of course. She was expecting a coherent statement.

She didn't expect Boq to let out a bloodcurdling scream of pain. There were no words in this particular scream, no cry for help; it was just a wail of agony- one that seemed to go on forever.

Startled by the noise and unable to stop herself, Nessarose dropped the Grimmerie, her chanting abruptly ending as it fell to the floor; instantly, she felt the magic flowing into Boq change. Though only an amateur in the use of magic, she could tell, just by the feel of the energies curling their way around Boq's writhing body in new and unnatural configurations, that the spell hadn't just gone wrong: it was actively worsening before her eyes.

One hand clamped over her mouth, she backed away as the botched transformation continued, unable to look away no matter how much she desperately wanted to: besides, she knew that even if she could shut her eyes and cover her ears, the sight of Boq's contorting body would be lurking behind her eyelids along with the wet crunching sound of metal tearing through flesh, drowning out even the loudest of the unfortunate Munchkin's screams.

Behind her, the door (already half-ruined in a barrage of magical explosions) finally exploded inwards, sending the cabinet that barricaded it skidding across the carpet. "Alright," Elphaba panted, "Let's just-" She stopped and stared at the malformed figure in the wheelchair. "Oh no," she said quietly. "Too late."

Boq was now at least half-transformed by now, and still screaming; his right arm had become a stylized metal duplicate, while his left was... well, his sleeve had torn open, allowing the two of them an unhindered glimpse of an arm completely stripped of its skin. The muscles beneath were slowly becoming metal, one strand at a time. His face was no better: soaked with blood, punctured through the cheeks by a dozen misbegotten metal bones, and missing huge patches of skin- all of which exposed a gleaming metal skull. Thankfully, the rest of the transformation was hidden by Boq's ragged uniform... which, Nessarose blearily remembered, had once been grey.

She vaguely discerned Elphaba hurrying over to retrieve the Grimmerie from where it lay, and heard her saying, in as calm a voice she could manage, "Boq, you need to hold still; the more you struggle, the more painful the transformation will be!"

"Ihhhcaaahhhh!" Boq wailed. "Ihhhhuuuuurssss!"

There was a loud ripping sound, and Elphaba jerked backwards as a line of sharp, curving spines abruptly shot out of Boq's chest. "_AAAAAAAAHHH!"_ he screamed. "Ooooffffuuuuuuuuuh! Ihhhhuuursss!"

"What are those?" Nessarose whispered, pointing at the dagger-like spines.

"Those _used_ to be his ribs," hissed Elphaba.

"Elphaba, can't you do something?"

"OH _NOW_ YOU NEED MY HELP! Look, never mind all that- I'll yell at you once he's stable; no, I can't stop the spell. All I can do is stop it from killing him... but at least we probably don't have to worry about him going into shock. Boq, don't worry- I've got spells that can numb the pain, too!"

If Boq had even heard her, neither of them would never know, because at that point, the mangled creature that he had become lurched out of the wheelchair, and began staggering towards the open door. Elphaba didn't have time to cast a spell before Boq shoved her violently out of the way, sending her tumbling across the room. As for Nessarose, he didn't even spare her a second glance; he simply limped away, moaning piteously and leaving a thick trail of blood and (horror of horrors) chunks of steaming flesh.

Eventually, the sounds of his exit ended with a loud bang that could only be the front door being broken open.

Time passed, as Nessarose's racing heartbeat gradually slowed to a fast but manageable patter; to her surprise, she wasn't crying. She wasn't even slightly sad that Boq had gone. All she could feel was shock, accompanied by a deep, chilling numbness.

Elphaba gradually clambered to her feet, looking shaken and angered but otherwise unharmed. "You _idiot_," she said wearily. "You incompetent, empty-headed bureaucratic know-nothing! What in the name of sanity could have possessed you to do such a thing? Why couldn't you have waited?" She sighed, and her shoulders slumped in despair. "Why couldn't you have listened to me?" she asked quietly.

"Elphaba, I'm so sorry-"

"Don't apologise. Don't apologise, just... what are we supposed to do now?"

"Well, we can follow him, right? I mean, we've got a trail, haven't we?"

Unfortunately, both of them found that in the minutes that Boq had been out of the house, he had evidently covered a lot of ground: he was nowhere in sight. Worse still, the trail of blood and other debris ended less than a hundred feet beyond the grounds. "Well, that makes sense," said Elphaba. "He's been bleeding from a lot of wounds for a long time by now, so he's probably bled dry."

"Then why hasn't he died?"

"I would presume it's because the spell worked at least partially as intended: blood-loss probably won't kill him, though I don't think it'll do him any favours, either. One way or another, though, we've lost him."

"No we haven't! You've got your broom, haven't you? Why can't you just try to find him while flying?"

"That won't work if he's found shelter indoors or in the underbrush... and besides, even if he hasn't found cover, I'm still a fugitive, remember? There'll be people watching the sky today, and I stand a very good chance of being shot and killed!"

"You've managed to avoid that every other time you've flown!"

"Of course not- I fly fast and as far away from any snipers as I can manage. But to find Boq, I'd have to fly slow and close to the ground, and risk getting hit!"

"Elphaba, _please!"_

She sighed. "I'll try my best," she said exasperatedly. "But no promises."

* * *

Half an hour later, Elphaba returned, soaring back into a hurried but graceful landing on the front lawn. "I'm sorry, Nessa," she said sadly. "I covered as much ground as I could, and I examined just about every single piece of shelter I could without being seen- with and without magic- but there's no sign of him."

Nessarose massaged her temples; the worry, the guilt _and_ the panic were beginning to override her once again. "He can't have gotten _too_ far, though! Couldn't he have collapsed somewhere?"

"Possibly..." Elphaba thought for a moment, then pointed at the road that led away from the house, and up towards a crossroads. "Does that see much traffic?"

"Not too much. I sometimes see the odd cart driving up and down it, but- oh no, you don't think-"

"That's the only explanation I can think of: Boq saw a cart approaching, waited until the driver had his back turned and climbed into the cart. He could be miles away by now."

Nessarose sagged. "So we've lost him," she said quietly. And then, as if to compound her misery, she realised that Elphaba was getting back on her broom. "Where are you going?" she asked.

Elphaba offered a reassuring smile- or her best equivalent. "I think I might have a solution," she said, a note of optimism in her voice. "The flying monkeys: with their numbers, they'll be able to search a lot more effectively and cover more ground than I can alone. Besides, I've been meaning to free them for months, and it's time I stopped dodging my responsibility."

"Aren't they being held in the Emerald City for rehabilitation?"

A disgusted sneer crossed Elphaba's face. "Rehabilitation for the effects of a spell I cast at the Wizard's _personal request, _yes; they'll be in the Emerald City- specifically, in the Wizard's throne room."

"But Elphaba, that'd be suicide! You know the power the Wizard has- I mean, you barely escaped that place alive the last time you were there-"

"Nessa, I've said this a thousand times, and if I haven't, I'm going to: the Wizard is a fraud. The palace is dangerous because of the guards, and with this being a day of celebration, I should think they'll have relaxed their patrols. Have a little faith in your big sister." She adjusted her position on the broom, and kicked off, rising quickly into the air. "I'll be back as soon as I can," she called, as she began picking up speed. "Try relaxing some of those laws while I'm gone- you might just need political support soon!"

And then she was gone, rocketing away into the sky and vanishing behind the clouds.

Nessarose stood alone on the lawn for a while, wondering what to do next. Eventually, she decided to move indoors, awkwardly shutting the door behind her and hoping that nobody would notice the broken latch.

Against her own better judgement, she found herself wandering back along the repulsive trail that Boq had left, towards the study. The room was the stuff of nightmares, of course: the broken door, the bloodstained carpet, and her wheelchair caked with all manner of bodily fluids. Drawing one of the chairs from the desk, she sat down and closed her eyes. When she opened them again, she found herself staring down at her feet; the slippers still glowed a comforting shade of red, but even without that, Nessarose would have found their presence undeniably reassuring: after all, these had been enchanted to let her walk for the first time in her life.

_And I didn't even thank Elphaba for it,_ she thought wretchedly. _And now she's on a suicide mission to rescue a pack of monkeys from the Wizard and a few hundred well-trained guards-_

Guards!

Nessarose jumped to her feet in sudden excitement: her guards could find Boq! Yes, she still had a guardhouse at her disposal, and though they might not be able to find Boq as quickly or efficiently as the flying monkeys, they might at least be able to make some headway. She hurried over to the line of bellpulls beside the door, and pulled down on the red cord.

There was a distant toll of a bell; four minutes passed, but no guards appeared. Nessarose tried again; still nothing.

Biting her lip in concern, she strode through the house towards the semidetached guardhouse. However, she found the door left hanging ominously open and the building itself empty of guards: nothing had been taken from the armoury, the records had been left undisturbed- indeed, the only sign left of the guards was a scrap of paper nailed to the back of the door.

_Today is a day of celebration and defiance,_ it read,_ the day the people of Oz show the Wicked Witch of the West that they are not afraid of her. We have decided that today should be one in which we show you that we do not fear you either: you can follow us, you can try and use what foul magic you have inherited from your sister against us, but know that we will never be afraid of you again, and that you are forever branded the Wicked Witch of the East._

Signed beneath it were the names of the guards that, up until today, had patrolled the manor.

Nessarose felt a deep sense of futility descend on her like a shroud: in the last few years, she'd been growing steadily more isolated as people in her life left her- voluntarily or otherwise.

Father had left her, had died of shame.

One by one, the servants had left her.

The guards had left her.

Elphaba had left her- as if she'd ever return alive from her mission!

And now, after all her efforts, after all the tears, the pleading, the screamed arguments, the legal trickery, and the vain attempts at magic, Boq had left her.

She was all alone, now. And it was all her fault.

Nessarose Thropp, Governor of Munchkinland and Wicked Witch of the East, put her head in her hands and started to cry.


	2. Trail of Destruction

A/N: Second chapter up, ladies and gents! Read, review, and enjoy!

Disclaimer: I don't own Wicked, and to be brutally honest, I wouldn't know what to do with it if I did.

* * *

The cart stopped in a town several miles southwest of the governor's mansion; as the driver strolled off to chat with the shopkeeper he was offloading to, the back of the cart stirred, and a horribly mangled shape tumbled out from under the cover and crashed to the ground with a muffled yelp of pain.

Across the road, two men sitting outside the local tavern looked up from their beers just in time to see it awkwardly hauling itself upright. The creature was dressed in the bloodied remains of a tunic and trousers; later on, the men would say to the guards that "they looked ripped 'n burst, too, like it'd grown while wearin' 'em."

Neither of them could get a good look at its face, but one of them did mention that the upper right-hand side of the thing's head looked "kinda silvery." Another witness- a horrified pedestrian standing stock-still amidst a heap of fallen groceries- reported the same thing when the guards interviewed her.

In any event, the creature only stayed long enough to steal the tarpaulin from the cart, which it wrapped around its twisted frame before hobbling off towards the opposite end of town, whimpering quietly.

* * *

Less than an hour later, a local doctor reported a break-in: a half-demented man wrapped in a tarpaulin had crashed through the door- apparently ripping it off its hinges single-handedly. The "patient" had spent his visit wailing incoherently and fumbling for pen and paper; eventually, he'd tired of this, and decided to just show the doctor what was wrong with him, whereupon the doctor had fainted clean away. When he awoke, the patient was gone, along with a large supply of laudanum.

"Great Oz," the ashen-faced doctor had said to the guards, "he should have been dead. He was shedding _flesh_ for Oz's sake! And as for what happened to his face, I haven't the slightest clue- it looked like prosthetics gone wrong: he had a metal eyeball in the left side of his face, but it moved, it swivelled, it _saw me_..."

After more descriptions (along with much repetition), the guards asked him if he'd any idea where the perpetrator might be going. "I'm just guessing, but if he came to see me, he might try the other doctor in town. If Rolson can't help him- or passes out like me- he'll have a few miles to walk before he can find another doctor."

* * *

Sure enough, Doctor Rolson's surgery was broken into; unfortunately, the rogue patient had been even more violent than before: Malthsparrick Rolson was found slumped in a corner of the dispensary, almost lost in a sea of broken glass, his skull crushed. Obviously, he'd tried to defend himself, for the bottom half of a large syringe was found clutched in his hand. Perplexingly, a bloodied note was found lying in the dead man's breast pocket; on it was scrawled a single word that even the terrible handwriting couldn't disguise:

SORRY

The dispensary itself had been just about overturned in what had doubtlessly been a fit of ferocious pique on the part of the intruder; for good measure, several bottles of laudanum had been emptied, but handling syringes had obviously been a bit beyond the man's capacity, because he'd broken just about every single one- either crushing it whole or snapping the needle in two.

Whoever or whatever the patient was, he'd also made a mess of the doctor's records in the search for the next doctor he could visit: filing cabinets had been overturned, cupboards had been torn apart, and papers had been strewn across the office in their thousands. Most of them were smeared with blood and other fluids that the guards didn't even want to guess at, all products of the patient's frenzied inspection; however, after about an hour of sorting, they realised that only one thing had actually been stolen- the contents of a folder marked "Atherston."

Or, to use his name and title, Abel Atherston, MD.

* * *

As it happened, Abel Atherston MD had left work early to enjoy the public holiday as best as he could before another load of barroom casualties arrived in his surgery; so, the guards had taken a detour to his house, fully expecting to find it painted with the good doctor's blood.

On the contrary, Atherston and his wife were very much alive, if badly bruised and deeply shaken: apparently, the marauding patient had actually managed to knock on the door without breaking it down, and through judicious use of hand signals and some scrawled instructions, had requested a check-up. With the Hippocratic Oath ringing in his ears and only a miniature flintlock pistol to defend himself from the intruder, the doctor had agreed.

Being a touch more coherent than the last two, he was later able to give a much better description of his patient- in particular, his head: bald, misshapen, and covered in long rips in the skin that exposed the metal beneath, with the exception of his left cheek, which had been pierced from within by several tiny thorn-like spikes. The skin itself was concrete grey, rife with infection and thick with squirming maggots; obviously, the last few hours spent outdoors under the blazing sun had done him no favours. But that wasn't the worst of the horrors to be found in that face; the most shocking was one that easily encompassed the entire right side of its face, given that it was almost completely devoid of flesh. However, what emerged from beneath the tattered scraps of flesh was not a metal skull, but a metal _face _with almost beautifully articulated features; quite conversely, the right eye was perfectly normal, if painfully livid and bloodshot, while the left was little more than a swivelling metal sphere in a gaping socket that looked uncannily skeletal.

With almost nothing reassuring or helpful left to say, Atherston had asked the hapless creature to indicate what part of his body hurt the most: as it happened, this turned out to be its stomach, which was covered by a tunic- one ripped at the shoulders and coming apart at the seams, but still mostly intact. Unfortunately, the thing was so soaked with blood that the patient was unable to remove it. On close inspection, it had also been punctured from beneath by no less than twenty-four solid metal protrusions; also, something heavy had slumped against the blood-sodden fabric. So, pausing only to cover his mouth with a handkerchief, the doctor had drawn a pair of scissors from his bag of tools, and began cutting down the middle of the tunic.

"And then," Atherston reported, "His guts fell out."

Evidently, whatever had happened to the man had ripped his belly open; now without his internal organs, all that remained was a gaping void in the patient's chest, framed by his curling, spear-like ribs. "The strangest thing, though," Atherston had noted, "was that I checked the cavity and the organs on the ground, and there wasn't any sign of a heart in either."

In any event, the heartless patient had taken one look at the immense heap of gore and metal at his feet, and started to scream. The screaming had attracted the attention of a local woodcutter passing the house, who'd decided to try and play hero by attacking a creature that was at least three-quarters metal. In the ensuing fight, (which Atherston and his wife barely managed to escape) the woodcutter had been brutally pummelled by the infuriated patient's wildly flailing limbs, flung from one end of the house to the other, thrust headfirst through a wooden bench, and finally decapitated with his own axe. After that, the patient had gathered up his tarpaulin and hobbled out of the house, using the borrowed axe as a crutch.

"Would you have any idea where he was going?" the interviewing guard asked.

"None," said Atherston shortly. "And judging by the way he was walking, I'd say he didn't either."

* * *

Everything hurt.

His skin, his eye, his half-converted legs, what little remained of his muscles... all of them felt as though they were on fire. The rest of his body felt only numbness, and would never feel anything ever again. In his worst moments of delirium, Boq was inexplicably glad that he didn't have a headache; at first he didn't understand why this was such a good thing, but then he thought for a moment and realised that, if pain could only be felt in the parts of his body that were still human, still vulnerable, still... _rotting_... his brain could be falling apart inside his skull, a putrescent mess of feasting maggots and ragged tissue and fading thoughts and forgotten memories and and and and...

Boq's moments of delirium were mercifully rare, but as time went on, he began to wonder if they weren't spells of pain-induced delusion at all, but lucidity.

At present, he was staggering down a hill towards the road, hoping to find another cart to hitch a lift in, and hoping that nobody would notice him and approach. There were surely people who'd thought it odd that anyone would be wearing a tarpaulin on such a hot day, but thankfully none of these people seemed to be around. In any event, he'd long-since given up all hope of finding a doctor that could help him: the first one had fainted, and with good reason- though Boq hadn't had a chance to look in a mirror, he knew he probably looked absolutely hideous by now. The second one... looking back on what had happened, he could scarcely believe that he'd killed the man; as far as Boq could recall, he'd meant to try and knock the syringe out of his hand- a dreadful mistake with his natural clumsiness.

As for the third... great Oz, why hadn't he just run for it? Why had he lost his temper? And what in the name of Oz had _happened_ to his stomach? Another strangled whimper escaped from his misshapen lips, as he heard, again, the wet thud of his own internal organs landing in front of him, and the shrieking metallic wail that he had produced as he stared down at them. And come to think of it, what had happened to him to begin with?

Boq remembered that last conversation in the study; he remembered that for some reason, Elphaba had been there, and for an equally unfathomable reason, Nessarose had somehow been able to walk; he remembered that there'd been an argument that had ended with Nessarose reading furiously from a spellbook. Then, he had felt a clenching pain in his chest, as if someone had seized his heart in an iron grip and begun to squeeze, and he'd collapsed; he'd awoken to an even worse pain that started in his bones and pulsed furiously into his flesh and muscles.

And Nessarose had been staring down at him in horror, a spellbook open in her hands.

The rest was all a blur, up until he reached the road and found the cart; he'd obviously lost consciousness again while hidden under the tarpaulin, because he couldn't remember just how many hours he'd lay there. In the hours since then, Boq had been wandering up and down the countryside in a daze, either making abortive visits to doctors, or trying vainly to inject himself with the drugs he'd stolen: as a result, not only was he sick with worry and groggy with pain, but he felt like a total idiot. Why would he even think that the laudanum would work on him when he didn't even have a heart, let alone working veins?

As if that wasn't bad enough, he wasn't even sure what to next, apart from "hitch a ride in the back of another cart and hope for the best." Assuming that the driver didn't find him, assuming that they weren't heading in the direction of a checkpoint, assuming that they weren't stopped by brigands, what the hell was he supposed to do next, anyway? Flee from a rampaging mob of villagers with pitchforks and torches? Have an encounter with a blind hermit?

He toyed with the idea of somehow finding a way into the Emerald City and approaching Glinda- just as he had in the last few seconds before his transformation had begun; he wildly fantasized about creeping unnoticed over the walls of the City and into the palace, where he'd meet Glinda: she'd recognise him in spite of all the malformations of his face and body, and she would help him- after all, she was called Glinda the Good for a very good reason, wasn't she? But then reality set back in with a vengeance: he knew that he'd never be able to sneak or fight his way past the Emerald City guards, and he knew that Glinda wouldn't recognise him. As for whether or not she could help him, it was a moot point. So he went back to thinking.

Eventually, after much daydreaming and desperate speculation, the answer came to him: _Nessarose._ She had done this to him- wether she had meant to or not- perhaps she would be able to help him! Even if she couldn't undo whatever it was she'd done, she would at least take him in; after all, she'd wanted to keep him around her at all times, and no matter how oppressive that future had seemed before, it was beginning to look like a vision of paradise compared to his current predicament. But he'd have to hurry, before the local guards picked up his trail... before his transformation got any worse.

Hobbling toward the nearest road, he found that the prospect of spending the rest of his life in Nessa's service was beginning to look more and more inviting with every step. After all, Nessa might be obsessive and a more than a little bit unnerving at times, and yes, she was responsible for the current crop of laws that had just about curtailed any rights the Munchkins had left, but damn it, she was a friend. Back at Shiz, even when the decision to date her had been made by Glinda, he'd found himself liking her because, quite frankly, she never judged him and never rejected him- not for his appearance, his habits, or his opinions.

_And look how you repaid that._

In every conversation, she'd always wanted to know about him, what he thought, what he enjoyed; whenever the topic swung in her direction, she'd blush, dismiss it and change the subject back to him. And though it was a touch disarming, and though it had eventually devolved into sheer obsession, her sweetness had never truly left her character.

Yes, Nessa was a friend. More to the point, she was the only friend he had left: quite apart from the fact that he'd never been adept at making friends, he'd been shunned by most of the other staff at the Governor's manor as "the cripple's favourite lackey." And the way he was right now, he'd be lucky if he could _approach_ people without being shot, let alone befriend them.

Yes, Nessarose would help him, and he'd never protest any decision she made ever again.

She had to help, otherwise...

Boq's thoughts rebelled again, and he hurriedly went back to thinking about how much his human half hurt.

Once he got his bearings and actually managed to determine where precisely the Manor lay, Boq set about finding a cart that was headed more or less in that direction. Of course, nobody wanted to actually visit Governor's manor, but there were several transports moving towards Centre Munch; it might be possible to walk to the manor from there. Unfortunately, stowing away aboard one of them took a ridiculous amount of time, partly because he was barely able to catch up with the convoy even with the aid of his axe-crutch, but mostly because his new body gleamed brightly in even the faintest torchlight. Even huddled in the darkness of the hindmost wagon, he didn't feel at all hidden or safe: it was only a matter of time before the driver noticed that his cargo was twitching or that there was a horrible smell of rotten meat wafting from the pallets of apples.

On the other hand, one of the few benefits of his new body was the fact that he was swiftly running out of sensation in it: he didn't feel the chill of the evening, he didn't feel the splintery wood he was lying on, he didn't feel the maggots wriggling around in what little was left of his flesh... even the pain of his transformation was starting to fade.

His other senses didn't seem dulled, however: he could very clearly hear the draymen shouting to each other about the "Wicked Witch of the East," and arguing amongst themselves about how it wasn't safe to talk in the country during the day. Over the next few hours, he lay in the back of the wagon, listening to one farfetched rumour after another: because most of it was just boring expansion on what had already been said about Elphaba, Boq grew unexpectedly calmer- almost sleepy.

Sleepier still; _Nessarose,_ he thought drowsily, _don't worry. I'll be home soon..._

* * *

He awoke to find the cart had stopped.

Risking a quick peek out of the cart, the moment his eyes adjusted to the morning sunlight, he realised that the driver had left the cart sitting right in the middle of the road, as had the other fifteen in front. As to why they'd done so, Boq hadn't the slightest clue: after all, it looked as though they were just on the outskirts of their destination.

In the distance, somewhere among the houses there was the sound of a gathering. Stretching creakily, he rose, slipped out of the cart, wrapped the tarpaulin around himself once again, and began staggering into the town as quietly as possible. This was easier than he expected, as most of the townsfolk appeared to be massing in the square, though for safety's sake, he decided to travel only by the alleyways and backstreets.

As he drew closer and closer, he thought he could hear voices raised in exaltation; what could the locals be celebrating? What could possibly be _worth_ celebrating at a time like this, unless the Wizard and Glinda had decided to extend the public holiday by another twenty-four hours?

When he finally arrived at the edge of the town square, he saw immediately what they had gathered to see: there, sitting just north of the town centre, was a house.

A _house._

It looked slightly battered, and it obviously had no foundations- as if it had somehow fallen from the sky. And judging by the whisperings of the townsfolk, it had; perhaps what had gotten the attention of the draymen was the sight of the house plummeting through the air. But there was obviously something more to this than an impossible sight, if the cries of joy were any evidence.

His suspicions were proved correct a moment later, for he saw that at the front of the crowd stood none other than Glinda. Boq hurriedly fought back the urge to run to her, knowing that he'd be killed if he tried to approach her with a crowd like this watching; as he did so, he saw that she was ushering a child out of the house- a girl, accompanied by a small dog, to be exact. The spectators were welcoming the girl with obvious reverence, some even bowing low to her.

What the hell was going on?

And then, as he drew closer, he saw what had kicked off the celebrations: protruding from beneath the house were two human feet... clad in blue and white striped stockings, and a pair of ruby slippers.

Oh no.

Oh _no..._

He was too late.

Nessarose had... she'd...

... Because he'd left her here, because he'd run away from her when she needed help, she'd...

Unable to finish this line of thought, he backed away from the mouth of the alleyway, walking backwards until he hit the wall with a soft _clank._

Suddenly, the world felt painfully cold.

Even though it was already gone, he felt as though his heart had been torn out.

And all he could think of, amidst his choked metallic sobs, were the words "_You're alone now; your last remaining friend is dead. And it's your fault."_

* * *

Time passed.

The celebrations ran on.

The ruby slippers were stolen.

And Elphaba arrived to mourn.

Once the confrontation with Glinda and Elphaba had come to a close and the girl departed, Boq began crossing as discretely as he could to the fallen house.

He was blearily aware that the townsfolk wouldn't stop at celebrating Nessa's death; they'd want to mutilate the corpse, to dangle it from a pike for all to see and use it as a warning for all future "witches." And that was something he didn't think he could bear to see or even hear of.

From the jagged recesses of his tin brain, a mad solution began to emerge: he would take the body as far away from here as possible- to her home, or to Shiz, or anywhere apart from here, anywhere that Nessarose had once been happy. There, he'd bury her with all the respect that he could render. And without warning, he found himself preparing to do exactly that.

To his surprise, he found that, once he had crept to the house, removing the corpse from beneath the house was easier than he'd thought it would be. In fact, all he had to do was grasp the house by its western side and lift it sharply upwards until the whole thing was lying on its eastern wall. Then, scarcely daring to look at the body, he'd wrapped her in his tarpaulin, scooped her up in both arms and began staggering away as quickly as he could.

* * *

More blurring.

More damn carts, and more worrying that the driver would notice the two figures stowed away in the back.

More blurring.

* * *

After their third cart, Boq awakened to find the driver standing over him, screaming in terror. Pausing only to cleave the man's skull open, (When had he stopped feeling remorse?) he'd clambered out of the cart with Nessarose in his arms and his axe secured to his bones, ready to start hitchhiking yet again. Then he realised why they'd stopped in the first place.

Stretched out before the two of them was a hellish landscape of blazing grassland and charred trees; the skies were dark with stormclouds, and occasionally, a lightning bolt of brilliant emerald would split the air in two. And also, somewhere in the distance, there came the distinctive pulse of magic; Boq had been around too much of it- and on the receiving end of it- not to recognise the energies washing over the plains.

And it might have been delirious imagination at work, but the road ahead appeared to be dotted with the mangled corpses of anyone unlucky enough to be outside at the time.

Up ahead, though, beyond the road, beyond the grasslands, and surrounded by jagged-tipped mountains, was a castle- undoubtedly the home of whoever had set the countryside aflame.

Not entirely sure what he was doing, Boq strode onwards towards the distant gates of the castle, Nessa still clutched tightly in his arms.


	3. Unexpected Hope

A/N: On with the third chapter, ladies and gents- read, review and enjoy! Nothing can stop the timeline from being twisted out of shape! (Hysterical laughter)

Disclaimer: Wicked still doesn't belong to me.

* * *

Once upon a time, Boq's decision to approach the castle had seemed like _such_ a good idea.

True, it had looked imposing from a distance, and yes, every bit of vegetation for miles around had been scorched by the magical outpourings of whomever or whatever lurked within, and maybe the weather about it had looked a bit on the hazardous side, but that didn't necessarily mean that it was a bad place.

But then, that was the story of his life: in the end, not matter what he did, he'd inevitably find himself up shit creek without paddles, oars or boat, neck-deep in diarrhoea and thinking to himself "it seemed like such a good idea at the time."

The lightning-strikes had escalated: where once they struck aimlessly at random points on either side of the road, now they seemed to arc directly towards him. And for good measure, they seemed to be accompanied by just about every single form of destructive magic that had ever been dreamed up by the wizards and witches of the past: barrage after barrage of wagon-sized fireballs; maelstroms of cloying dirt which probably would have suffocated him if he had any lungs; sleeting gales of what felt like razorblades to his dying nervous system; and even enormous hailstones of what could only be chunks of the castle's own masonry. And through it all, carried on the pulses of magic rushing across the land, could be felt a single, all-consuming emotion: rage.

As the ground to his left exploded violently, showering him and Nessarose with gravel, Boq wondered just who the hell could possibly be lurking in this castle. It was clearly someone with a talent for magic, but as Oz was running short on those at present, just who could it be? He thought that Elphaba might have finally claimed a castle for her own after so many years of nomadic warfare against the Wizard, but it didn't seem terribly likely; after all, for all her power she was just an individual, and against the private armies the nobles employed, even the Wicked Witch of the West might falter.

Then who was it?

It didn't matter; if he could get his bearings, found out where the hell he was and find a place to bury Nessa with decency and respect, he'd be happy. He knew, of course, that he couldn't go home after that; he knew that he couldn't make any more attempts to contact Glinda; above all, he knew that from this moment on, company of any kind would almost impossible to find. Perhaps it would be better if one of these fireballs _did_ kill him... but not before he'd found a place to bury Nessarose, of course.

But the storm seemed to be easing a little. Did that mean-

Boq saw the last fireball rocketing directly towards him, and barely had enough time to toss Nessa out of the way and shut his eyelid tight before the blast of fiery magic struck him head-on: he felt the heat roar through his tin body, cooking the flesh still sitting on it and producing a smell that Boq might have found tantalizing if he'd still had a stomach. Over the pop of exploding maggots, he heard and felt it billow through him, rising higher and higher until it stopped just inside his mouth, where his tongue was instantly fried.

There was a pause, as his body began to cool, allowing the last of his human flesh to gently slide off his bones and splatter to the ground. He opened his eyelid, and found that he could still see through his human eye.

Did that mean he was alright?

He took an experimental step towards Nessarose, and instantly collapsed to his knees; he didn't feel in any pain- in fact, all he felt at that moment was exhaustion.

_This is it_, he thought. _I'm going to die._

He tried to think of something meaningful to say, some heartfelt apology to Nessarose, some anguished declaration of love to Miss Glinda that would never be heard, or at the very least, something profound and wise. But then, he'd never been either of the latter two, and anyway, the loss of his tongue had destroyed just about any capacity for coherent speech he had left in him.

So, bewildered, drained and teetering on the brink of unconsciousness, he found that all he could produce was a single, plaintive, childish whine of "Owwwwwwwwww."

Then the world went dark.

* * *

By now, Elphaba's rage and grief had been at least temporarily spent, and she was capable of rational thought again. Unfortunately, this meant that her blind hatred had dulled to a voracious longing for revenge against every single living soul in Oz- every single gullible, indolent citizen who'd eagerly swallowed the lies that the Wizard had spoon-fed them, every guard who'd pursued her across Oz without questioning a single order they were given, every member of the squad who'd gleefully taken part in the torture and murder of Fiyero... and of course, the ringleaders of this pathetic little masquerade that they had the audacity to call a country: the Wizard, Madame Morrible, and most of all, Dorothy Gale.

And worse still, past the plethora of violent thoughts, her directionless sorrow over the brainwashing of Doctor Dillamond and the deaths of Nessa and Fiyero had turned to a desperate search for explanations, which in her experience was never a good thing. She couldn't stop asking herself what had gone wrong, especially with her attempt to save Fiyero: why had the spell failed? Had she mispronounced something in her haste to cast it? Had she failed to account for all the variables the magic presented? Had someone- Madame Morrible, likely- interfered with the process from a distance? Had she simply been too late to save him?

Had she been too _weak_ to save him?

Elphaba wanted to stop thinking, to stop wondering and to stop _hating_, but she couldn't: the anger and misery was loose in her mind, tearing through her mind like wildfire, eating away at her very-

There was a soft hoot from the doorway, and Elphaba looked up to see a gaggle of Flying Monkeys standing in the doorway. To her surprise, they were dragging two bedraggled-looking figures into the room; though she couldn't see any specific details, she could see that one was wrapped in some kind of shroud, and the other was clad in some kind of brightly-polished armour, with an axe clipped to his back.

"Where did you find these two?" she asked the monkeys, forcing the emotion out of her voice.

One of them pointed in the general direction of the gates.

"Outside?"

He nodded, and indicated that one of them- likely the knight- had been carrying the other.

Who on earth would be outside in the thaumaturgical maelstrom that she'd sent across the surrounding landscape? Had these two died in the ensuing chaos, or had they somehow survived? Temporarily shelving these questions for later, Elphaba knelt down over the body of the armoured knight, and realised with amazement that he wasn't dressed in armour at all: his body was _made of metal._

More specifically, _tin._

In the hours since she'd last seen him, Boq had undergone a very comprehensive degeneration: not only was his body now completely bare of flesh, but his new body had quite clearly failed to develop in many ways, even though the spell had almost certainly run its course. Clearly, with so much of his flesh being shed during the transformation, several parts of his body were nothing more than metal bones- or in the case of his stomach, an empty cavity. All in all, the only parts of his body that had well and truly completed their metamorphosis were his right arm, his left leg, a few sections of his back, and the right side of his face. As for that face, Elphaba honestly couldn't make up her mind what was more unearthly about it: was it the grinning metal skull with the blank tin eye on the left half, or the serene, mask-like countenance on the right?

And more to the point, why had he come here? Obviously, he hadn't been able to find much in the way of shelter or charity, but why had he come here, of all places? Had he been so desperate for sanctuary that he'd ventured out into the apocalyptic depths of her rage incarnate? And who was the tarpaulin-wrapped figure he'd been carrying around?

Hesitantly, she approached the prone body of the other interloper, gently lifted its shroud.

There was silence for a moment; and then the audience chamber of Kiamo Ko echoed with the sound of a lonely witch crying brokenly over the corpse of her sister.

* * *

Boq's return to consciousness was slow, painful and thoroughly unwilling; he wanted to stay asleep for as long as he could, so he could pretend that, for a just little while longer, he was still a Munchkin, that Nessa was still alive, that Glinda loved him, that anything in the world was possible. But his body rebelled; at the sound of a voice, he found himself rising slowly to his feet.

And then, with a thrill of terror, he realised that he now stood face to face with Elphaba, Wicked Witch of the West; for five whole seconds, he stood in silence, wondering what grisly fate she had in store for him.

"Why are you here?" she asked eventually.

He tried to reply; he _tried_, but all that emerged from his throat was an incomprehensible jumble of vowels.

Elphaba sighed, crossed to the foot of the throne, and began rummaging around in a small hide bag sitting beside it; eventually, she drew some sheets of paper, a quill and an inkwell from it, and handed them wearily to Boq. It took several attempts to get something legible written, and in the end, he resorted to kneeling on the floor and using the sharpened tip of his left index finger as a pen to write the following sentence:

_Trying to take Nessa's body somewhere safe._

"What do you mean?"

_Munchkins wouldn't have let her be. Wanted to bury her somewhere else, somewhere where she'd been happy. Got lost. Ended up here._

For a moment, it looked as though Elphaba was well and truly lost for words. Then, she whispered, "What about that argument the two of you had before you were transformed? Why aren't you still angry with her for rescinding your people's rights?"

_That was my fault. If I hadn't tried to run, she wouldn't have had to do that._

"Boq, you're not making any sense-"

The next sheet of paper was little more than gibberish: he'd been writing at such a ferocious speed and with so many emotions cluttering his mind that the lines of text had started to merge with each other. He couldn't even remember what he'd been writing except for two words: MY FAULT, scrawled in capital letters across every reason why he'd changed his mind. And it was true, wasn't it? He could have helped, he could have said something to Nessarose sooner, he could have agreed to stay by her side, he could have returned to the manor sooner, he could have saved her life, he could have _DONE SOMETHING..._

A hand on his shoulder snapped him out of his frenzied reverie, and he looked up in amazement to see Elphaba standing over him, a pitying expression on her face.

"If it's any comfort," she said quietly, "I share the blame with you: I was meant to keep her safe in the first place; father might have been wrong about a lot of things, but he was right when he told me I had to look after Nessarose. And I failed at it: I left her on her own and forgot all about her until it was too late to do anything about it- _twice."_ She took a deep breath. "For what it's worth," she continued, "thank you for bringing her here."

There was a mournful silence, which Boq finally broke by scribbling another question on the piece of paper- a question he had, in fact asked himself outside in the wastes: _Where did you get this castle?_

For a moment, Elphaba said nothing, and Boq wondered absently if he'd just asked a deeply inappropriate question. However, the Witch eventually replied, "It was a gift from Fiyero."

_Glinda's fiancé?_ The moment he wrote these words, he wanted to erase them; quite apart from the fact that Glinda was getting married still stung vaguely, he could tell from the look on Elphaba's face that he'd written the wrong words again. "He rescued me from the Wizard's guards," she admitted at last, "and gave me this castle as a refuge... and just when I thought he'd given up everything for me, he proved me wrong by..." She faltered, and Boq realised that she was crying. "...by _sacrificing_ himself... so I could escape an ambush... and they tortured him to death."

She sighed, and crossed to Nessa's body, which was still lying in its tarpaulin shroud, and began to arrange it as neatly and respectfully as she could. "So here we are," she murmured, "Fresh from losing everything_, _and wondering what the hell we could possibly do next-"

She suddenly fell silent. Then, tentatively, she leaned forward until one ear was almost level with her dead sister's mouth; her eyes widened, and she felt the neck for a pulse. Then at last she looked up at Boq, her eyes alight with hope. "She's _alive_," she whispered in amazement. "I don't know how, but _she's alive!"_

* * *

Several minutes later, they'd made Nessarose as comfortable as possible in one of the larger bedrooms of the castle tower. Elphaba found herself rushing around the four-poster bed, checking and double-checking and triple-checking her sister's body with every single diagnostic spell she had in her repertoire. Even if she wasn't occupied with this, she still wouldn't have been able to sit still: her elation was almost lifting her off the ground- she was certain that her feet barely brushed the floor as she went about the diagnosis. Now, in this blazing instant, it seemed as though there was something left to strive for, some way of making amends for her past mistakes. Boq meanwhile, stood in silence. Elphaba couldn't tell what he was thinking; perhaps he was just as lost in the moment as she was, or perhaps he wasn't daring to dream too far in that direction. In any event, he remained silent and watchful, as the diagnoses finally began pouring into existence.

"I knew it," Elphaba muttered excitedly, "I _knew _she looked a little too intact for someone who'd just had a house land on her! Something protected her, something shielded her from the worst effects of the crash, and even now, it's still healing the internal injuries!" She took a deep breath, and explained: "All throughout her body, I've found quantities of a very potent form of magical energy: whatever it is, it's the only thing that stopped her from being crushed completely to death by the house, but it obviously couldn't stop her from at least suffering internal injuries and broken bones. So, its keeping her asleep while it repairs the damage."

_So she's going to be okay?_ Boq wrote.

She bit her lip, as she reassessed the prognosis. "Unfortunately, no," she said slowly. "Like I said, I've found _quantities_ of the energy. As far as I can tell, wherever the magic came from, she was exposed to it long enough for it to accumulate within her body. But because she's been removed from this source or whatever, her body's used up a large amount of the stored power just to survive the initial impact; if she exhausts all the available energy before her healing is complete, then she really _will_ die."

_What can we do, then?_

"I'm not sure. I can keep her and the energies from deteriorating any further, but if we're going to get her back to health, we'll need to find the source of these energies. But we'll need to find out what it was, first-"

Boq let out a garbled shout of amazement.

"What?"

The tin man repeated himself on paper: _THE RUBY SLIPPERS!_

Elphaba opened her mouth to say this wasn't possible, and then thought better of it; the enchantment she'd cast on Nessa's shoes was meant to allow her to walk again, but it might just be possible that it had other effects. After all, it was a product of one of the spells of the Grimmerie, and they'd always seemed to have some kind of unintended consequence whenever they were cast. Perhaps the Ruby Slippers were now wellsprings of healing magic; who could guess at what they'd become?

"Well," she said at last, "At least we know where _they_ are.'

_I know. Saw you arguing with Glinda and the girl._

She smiled wryly. "I'd never have guessed that the very thing I wanted as a memento of Nessa would actually be the key to saving her life. Trouble is," she continued, "I've still got to find a way to take the Ruby Slippers from Dorothy Gale, and while she's under Glinda's protection, too." She wanted to stop there, but because Boq remained almost completely silent, she found herself rambling faster and faster of her own accord. "From what I've seen, she's on her way to the Emerald City- and after my last attempt at breaking in they'll almost certainly have stepped up security. Once she's there, Dorothy will be well and truly out of my reach... but even before then, directly attacking her will be a problem; if she's smart, she'll keep to the Yellow Brick Road and any towns found along it. The Munchkins will stop at nothing to keep her safe- after all, as far as they're concerned, she's their saviour now and they'll defend her to the death and I can't risk losing the Flying Monkeys to snipers, not after I've worked so hard to save them, so I've got to plan my attack very-"

Boq coughed loudly. She turned, and realised that the right side of his face- the one that was still capable of expression- was now smiling broadly.

_Who said _you_ had to do it?_

Elphaba blinked; was this really Boq she was talking to? Had he really changed so much in the last two days?

"You'd be willing to do this?" she asked.

Boq nodded.

"If you choose this, Boq, they'll paint you as a monster no matter how you try to get the Ruby Slippers off the child, even if you try and explain that a life's at stake. You'd be pitted against the Wizard and every single citizen loyal to him, including everyone you knew when you were still a Munchkin; your family, your friends, and yes, even Glinda. Do you want that?"

Boq hesitated. Then he began writing again; when he was finished, he stood and held up his finished statement. _What I want doesn't matter anymore, _it read. _This isn't about me. This is about Nessa. I'll do whatever must be done to save her life._

And in spite of everything that had happened, in spite of all her cultivated pessimism, even in spite of all the odds that might be arrayed against them, Elphaba smiled. "Well then, Boq," she said, "That makes two of us."

Boq smiled back, and extended a hand- his right, specifically.

Elphaba shook it.

_And so it begins, _she thought. _You and me against the world, Boq. And I never thought I'd ever feel as though the odds were in our favour for a change._


	4. The Legends At Work

A/N: A new chapter, and it's time to break out the Terminator theme! (or the Cybermen Theme, whatever's your poison) Read, review and enjoy, ladies and gentlemen!

Disclaimer: Wicked is not mine, and it never will be.

* * *

Within the next ten hours, Oz was gripped by a new and unrelenting horror as the news of the latest attack reached its people; up until then, most of them had been basking in the afterglow of yesterday's celebration, or- in the case of the Munchkins- the death of the Wicked Witch of the East. Now, with this new and terrible threat on the horizon, some of them wondered if those two joyous events had been anything more than cruelly beautiful dreams; others speculated that the recent parade of misfortunes and abominations was just the beginning of a steady descent towards some kind of apocalypse. In the Emerald City, the Wizard's many spokespersons gave press conference after press conference, desperately trying to calm the panic loose among the citizenry- to no avail, for the nightmare that was now enveloped the country was _twofold._

It began when the Wicked Witch of the West, far from being demoralised to the point of surrender as some thought she might be, unleashed her foul magic upon Oz with renewed vigour, destroying a vast tract of Vinkus grassland and any civilians unfortunate enough to be travelling in the area at the time, before continuing her attacks on Dorothy Gale, the child from another world- a girl that many Ozians were beginning to hail as a saviour.

And then, just when it looked as though Dorothy had found shelter in a village too well-defended for the Witch to assault, the settlement had all but fallen to a new menace so repugnant and twisted that it could only be an ally of the Witch. This thing, described by terrified refugees as a metal facsimile of a mutilated human corpse, had torn through the gates with its bare hands, hacked its way through an entire platoon of guards, and begun marching towards Dorothy. The surviving guards, unable to kill the creature with any weaponry at their disposal, were forced to hurry the little girl out of the village as quickly as possible.

But the pursuit continued: whenever the child and her newfound companions arrived in a village, the monster was never far behind. No matter what barricades the defenders built, no matter what weapons they brought to the fore, nothing could stop it; through hails of arrows, gunfire, collapsing houses, and even a collision with a runaway coach, the thing remained utterly implacable and seemingly indestructible. Unlike the Witch, it seemed to have no weaknesses, nor did it feel the need to announce itself: it didn't laugh maniacally, it didn't roar blood-curdling threats; in fact it didn't say anything at all. Every raid was carried out with silent, mechanical efficiency; it always marched straight for Dorothy, it always killed anyone that dared try to stop it, and whenever its path was blocked by an obstacle, the creature simply tore its way clear through it.

By the time the monster arrived at the gates of the fifth village along the Yellow Brick Road, travelling on foot had become too dangerous for Dorothy and her companions; so, the mayor readied an improvised chariot for the visiting heroes, and ordered the best driver in the area to make straight for the Emerald City and stop for absolutely nothing. Unfortunately, it looked as though the Wicked Witch had been waiting for something like this to occur; for the remainder of the journey, she bombarded the road with her magic, and only relented when the guard towers of the Emerald City came within sight. Once inside the city, any celebrations of Dorothy's arrival were curtailed as the guards hurried to shelter her from any further attacks.

However, all the Witch did was circle the city on her broomstick for a time, and then write "SURRENDER DOROTHY" across the sky with her own exhaust. By that time, however, the monster had caught up with them, and though it couldn't breach the reinforced iron gates, it didn't seem at all dismayed by this. In fact, it started writing a message of its own in enormous letters carved into the grass: "THERE IS NO ESCAPE."

And then the photographers that had witnessed the destruction wrought upon the West and East decided to sell their work to a prominent local newspaper; and on the front page of the evening editions, two of the most terrifying images ever seen in Ozian media were printed: one was the hellish landscape of barren crags and blazing grassland that the Wicked Witch had created; the other was of the creature striding calmly through the blazing ruins of a house, a guardsman's flensed corpse dangling from his left hand.

This same newspaper also gave the creature a name- not exactly a creative one, but certainly an evocative one:

The Tin Man.

* * *

With the inhabitants of the Emerald City virtually under siege by these two enemies of Oz, the citizens started to wonder, and the rumour-mill began to churn: the theories ranged from the unlikely to the downright insane, but quite frankly, they all sounded equally reasonable to the terrified Ozians, who were willing to accept just about any explanation that allowed them to divorce themselves from reality.

For example, one popular rumour stated that the Tin Man had once been the half-brother of the Wicked Witch; once a man rivalled only by his illegitimate sister in cruelty, now preserved as a mindless automaton after one of his own experiments had killed him. Another one claimed that the Tin Man's body had been built from scratch by the Wicked Witch, while his mind had been plucked from the body of a murderer hanging from the gallows- if not from the darkest bowels of the underworld itself!- and given the chance to enjoy the thrill of slaughter once again through the mismatched limbs of a mechanical demon.

One of the more farfetched ones backfired in the escapism stakes by actually causing an outbreak of mass hysteria: this particular one posited that the Tin Man was the result of a hideous plague, an infection that had either escaped from a realm best left unmentioned or simply been willed into existence by the Witch herself. One way another, the rumour continued hysterically, this disease actively sought out living beings and converted them into twisted mockeries of their previous selves; now that it had infected five whole villages via the Tin Man, there was an army of these abominations marching towards the Emerald City.

(There were even a few attic-dwelling crackpots who actually believed that the Tin Man had once been an impoverished woodcutter by the name of Nick Chopper who'd fallen victim to his own enchanted axe.)

Eventually, of course, Madame Morrible had to step in: she made her speeches on behalf of the Wizard, she praised Dorothy for her part in the death of the Wicked Witch of the East, she praised Glinda for her good works across Oz, and she promised that the Witch and her unnatural accomplice would soon be defeated.

But Morrible knew in her heart that it wouldn't be enough to seriously boost public morale: for a start, it was a shoddy replacement for what she'd actually been planning- a full-scale call to war, in which every willing citizen of Oz would be set against the Witch. Ever since Elphaba had first begun her campaign against the Wizard and the unethical treatment of animals, the hatred of her had been steadily increasing; naturally, Morrible had hoped to exploit this following the day of celebration. Today _should_ have been the perfect day to stage the Witch Hunt, but Elphaba's newfound bloodthirstiness, combined with the appearance of this seemingly unstoppable minion she'd created, had proved too much of a shock for the people.

With the arrival of Dorothy and her companions, Morrible had hoped that one of them might be able to fuel the fires of public loathing with some personal tale of how they'd been wronged by the Witch, but the Cowardly Lion and the Scarecrow were completely useless in this respect: true, the Lion apparently owed his cowardice to a run-in with Elphaba back at Shiz, but the mangy beast's stage fright meant he wouldn't be speaking at any rallies in the foreseeable future. As for the Scarecrow, he'd politely declined, and even if he hadn't, the straw man was far too passive and mellow to encourage the wrath of a crowd: ever since they'd arrived, he'd done nothing but stare out at the warning Elphaba had scrawled upon the clouds, and occasionally chat with Dorothy.

So, the Witch-Hunt was cancelled, and the press conferences had to suffice. They might have been salvageable if Glinda had been willing to take up the microphone- or better yet, been able to keep a smile on her face- but no, the stupid blonde tart had proved too incompetent even for that. She'd just sat there, downcast expression and all, and let the farce play out around her. If the plaza hadn't been filled with reporters, Morrible would have liked very much to have brought a bolt of lightning down on Glinda's head; but of course, she couldn't without plausible deniability in place, so she settled for wildly fantasizing how much better Elphaba would have been at Glinda's job if she hadn't decided to become an idealist.

Then, just as she was beginning to wonder how long it would take for the resident "Good Witch" to up and slit her wrists over the death of the narcissistic waste of flesh she'd called a fiancé, when the message from the Wizard arrived. It was short, to the point, and requested that Dorothy Gale be brought to the audience chamber immediately for an emergency conference regarding the imminent threat to the state and the solution that the child might represent.

Morrible sighed, counted to the highest number she possibly could, and strode back inside the palace.

* * *

For the first time in his life, Boq felt unshakably confident.

They'd shot him, they'd bludgeoned him, they'd dulled their blades in stabbing him, they'd brought down whole buildings on top of him, they'd even fired a barrage of artillery shells at him; all to no avail. Bullets, blades and arrows simply bounced off his metal body, and Elphaba's custom-made enchantments granted him such durability that it was no wonder that so many of the guards that opposed him eventually turned tail and fled.

Elphaba had been right, though: none of them had given him a single chance to explain himself- they'd seen him approaching the village, and opened fire. At first, this had depressed Boq, though he couldn't explain why; perhaps it was some lingering faith in his own people slowly fading away, perhaps it was simply the fact that none of them had bothered to read the "I'M NOT HERE TO HURT ANYBODY" sign around his neck. After the first two villages, though, he'd stopped feeling remorseful about the guard's he'd had to slice his way through, and started feeling annoyed. By the fourth, he'd gotten downright infuriated: was anybody interested in reading what he had to say? Did anyone think of asking his business? Did _nobody_ look at the blood-splattered sign and think _"Ooh, ironic, that,"_ or did that fail to cross their minds?

"That's just the way it goes, Boq," Elphaba had mused, sympathetically. "You remember how it was for me at Shiz, don't you?"

Boq nodded guiltily, remembering the times he and a dozen other members of Glinda's unofficial following had ganged together for the sole purpose of annoying or bullying Elphaba; of course, the whole thing had fallen apart when Glinda and Elphaba had unexpectedly befriended one another, but that didn't stop Boq from looking back on the whole dreary business and wondering just who the hell he'd thought he was in those unpleasant first months of university.

Then again, he'd never expected to end up being a friend to Elphaba. He'd never expected her to forgive him for his past misdeeds, to allow him a home at Kiamo Ko- even if she _was_ helping him to undo said past misdeeds. He'd certainly never imagined that she'd ever speak with him so candidly about the last few years of her rebellion against the Wizard and the losses she had suffered.

He'd never expected to become her friend.

How things changed.

Now he sat outside the Emerald City walls, almost invisible under a blanket of dead leaves, waiting patiently for the gates to open. Under cover of darkness, he and Elphaba had met earlier that night and discussed how they were to retrieve the Ruby Slippers now that their wearer was under the protection of the Wizard's personal guards. They'd agreed that Dorothy wouldn't remain inside the Emerald City forever: after all, now that they were treating her as a saviour, it'd only be a matter of time before the ever-hopeful citizens tried to get her to do to Elphaba what she had _almost_ done to Nessarose. And since Dorothy appeared happy enough to be shoved from one objective to another by anyone with the slightest bit of authority, she'd probably accept.

After that, it would be a very simple matter of separating her from her companions; the Scarecrow didn't have much in the way of fighting prowess, and the Lion had no courage to back up his strength. Once Dorothy had been spirited back to Kiamo Ko, the Ruby Slippers would be removed from her through any means available.

_Not long now,_ he thought to himself. _Soon, Nessa, soon..._


	5. Empathy

A/N: Sorry it's so late, but I've been busy trying to make this chapter seem at least _partly _credible in terms of behaviour. I hope you enjoy it!

* * *

Madame Morrible resisted the urge to grumble an expletive as the Wizard outlined the particulars of his plan; it was far too early in the morning for the Wizard's outlandish ideas, and even if they were standing right next to one of the most impressive results of said outlandish ideas, Morrible remained skeptical of them at the best of times. "With all due respect, your Ozness," she interrupted, "What you are proposifying is impossible on too many levels to count: among the most basic of our problems is the fact that hypnosis cannot be used to convince a human being to commit murder, or in fact, anything the participant wouldn't do voluntarily- hence the reason why we discounted it as a valid form of propaganda over twelve years ago!"

The Wizard offered a reassuring smile. "I know that, Madame; I've had enough experience with hypnotic suggestion over the years to know its limitations off by heart, which is where you come in. I know that weather magic is your speciality, but I also know that you've been researching other fields, too; I'll need you to magically deepen the trance, and allow me to implant more intricate commands, with subtler triggers."

"As inspired as that idea may be, your Ozness, the problem remains: _you cannot make Dorothy do anything she wouldn't normally do, _least of all murder_._"

"I'm not ordering Dorothy to kill Elphaba at all... technically speaking. I mean, it's not as if Dorothy actually knows about-"

"-if the child has been listening to any of the local gossip, then yes, she probably _does_ know that."

"That wouldn't have happened, Morrible: I've been very careful to keep her isolated from the rest of the city for as long as humanly possible until I'm ready to send her out-"

"Which brings me to the next problem: your plan hinges on Elphaba or the forces loyal to her actually kidnapping Dorothy and taking her back to a place with access to running water. In the likely event of the Tin Man hacking her legs off and leaving her to bleed to death, do you have a contingency in place? If there's no water accessifiable in the castle Elphaba presently occupies, what course of action is Dorothy supposed to take next?"

"Kiamo Ko's blueprints were donated to the Emerald City archives some time ago," said the Wizard, smoothly, though Morrible could clearly hear the joviality in his voice beginning to unravel. "There's a well in the lower levels of the palace, and she'll have kept it open for those Flying Monkeys to drink from. As for ensuring a kidnapping..." He threw up his hands. "I don't _know._ We're running out of options all around: I hadn't expected this Tin Man to show up, and I certainly didn't expect the Witch to go on the offensive the way she did; right now, we _need_ to take this chance."

In the echoing silence that followed, he ran a hand through his thinning hair and sighed deeply. "I just wish she'd accepted my offer," he said sadly.

"As do I," Morrible agreed, her tone unreadable. "A regrettable waste of a promising talent."

There was an even longer silence between the two of them, broken only by the distant sound of a bell tolling. "What time is it?" the Wizard asked quietly.

"About four in the morning."

"When Dorothy awakes, bring her here again- make up some story about giving her a magical talisman that can protect her from the Witch. It shouldn't matter what you say to her; she won't remember much of the session. Once I've finished implanting the commands, make sure that the coast is well and truly clear before sending her on her way; I've no doubt that Elphaba or the Tin Man will be waiting to ambush her, but... we can but hope they'll spare her life for the moment..."

* * *

Dawn brought no end to the fear that had engulfed the Emerald City; Oz's darkest hour stretched on and on into the day and nothing short of a speech from Glinda or the Wizard himself could have broken it- and neither of them were in sight. Many people were afraid to leave their homes that morning, and several of them made all the excuses they could to avoid braving the misty streets seperating them from their work. Children were kept indoors at all costs, needless to say.

In spite of their exhaustion, the guards remained at high alert, patrolling the walls and streets in force, just in case the Tin Man or the Wicked Witch had somehow managed to infiltrate their defences. Some of the brighter guardsmen had commandeered several hoses from the fire brigade, in the hope that if the Witch was indeed wandering the streets in search of victims, they would be equipped to destroy her when the time came. Unfortunately, even they weren't sure how they would deal with the Tin Man: after all, the only thing that had thrown the monster's stride was a barrage of rockets from the Experimental Artillery Brigade, and using explosives in the streets of Emerald City could be disastrous.

Elsewhere, in the few workplaces populated enough to remain open, and in the barricaded homes, new horror stories were being told about the deadly foes of Oz; about how the Tin Man himself was already loose in the Emerald City and waiting for the perfect moment to massacre them all, that he'd been seen in the alleyways that night, dragging his enormous axe behind him and producing a deafening screech of metal on stone. Others- specifically those who'd heard that the Wizard was thinking of sending an assassin after the Witch- claimed that the area around the Wicked Witch's castle had been converted into a nightmare landscape where reality itself dissolved under the malignant influence of the Witch, where human beings were sculpted by free-flowing magic into horrible new forms. These deranged mutants- unnatural fusions of human flesh and chitinous exoskeleton- would be recruited into the Witch's army, to march alongside the Tin Man's metal soldiers in the inevitable attack on the Emerald City.

And throughout all of this, with the streets deserted except for the guards and the citizens too distracted to think about anything but their fear, nobody noticed the three figures (four, counting the dog) being escorted towards the gates.

* * *

Hours later, the Lion had started worrying again. Apparently, he'd made the mistake of talking to one of the guards, who'd been unhelpful enough to mention some of the more gruesome rumours to him.

"What if it's true?" he muttered anxiously. "We won't even be able to get near this place without becoming one of those... those things!"

"I'm sure we'll be fine," Dorothy reassured him. "The Wizard wouldn't have sent us out here if he thought we weren't able to complete the task he gave us."

"Besides," the Scarecrow chimed in, "I get the feeling that we've got more important things to worry about than getting recruited for the Witch's private army. I mean, we've got the Tin Man to worry about, haven't we?"

Dorothy, who'd learned to take the Scarecrow's advice when it was given, risked a quick glance around her; they'd been walking for almost four hours by now, and with the Emerald City out of sight and the trees growing slowly thicker around them, the Tin Man could very easily be in hiding nearby, just _waiting_ to attack. And even though she knew she couldn't start getting scared now, even though she tried to remind herself that she'd met the Cowardly Lion in a similar way, she couldn't stop herself from imagining the screech of metal on stone just before the monster pounced upon them- and this time they wouldn't be able to get away. After all, the last few times it had attacked them, there'd been a whole village in its way, (and she couldn't even bear to think about what had happened to the poor people they'd left behind). This time, they were alone and on foot. This time, they'd be close enough to see its face just before it...

She shook herself, and tried not to think about what would happen next. Instead, she started wondering (in between urging Toto to keep up) about more important things, like how they'd steal the Witch's broomstick. Truth be told, Dorothy didn't like the idea of stealing _anything_, but if it meant going home, she'd do it; Oz was no longer the happy, magical place it had been when she'd first arrived, not with the Wicked Witch and the Tin Man chasing them.

_And all because of these,_ she thought miserably, looking down at the Ruby Slippers on her feet. _What does she really want these for, really? Do I really want to know the answer to that, though? _

Behind her, the Scarecrow and the Cowardly Lion were still talking; desperately searching for something nice to think about, Dorothy started wondering what it would be like when the Wizard finally gave them what they'd asked for. How would he give the Scarecrow his brain? How would he give the Lion his courage? How different would they be afterwards?

Oh, there were so many questions, and she might never know the answers to any of them-

Suddenly, Toto began to growl quietly, and the Lion let out a terrified squeal; Dorothy looked up just in time to see exactly what she hadn't wanted to see- the Tin Man, striding calmly from behind a tree to stand in front of them, leaning on its axe like a walking-stick. Dorothy had never seen the monster this close ever before, and it was much more horrid than she'd thought it would be; she'd seen its shape from a distance, seen the daggerlike things poking from its chest, but she'd never thought those were its _ribs_. One half of its face, the part that was just a tin skull with a tin eyeball, wore a permanent grin; the other half, the one that actually looked a bit like a real face, the one that actually had an expression, was solemn, unsmiling- almost businesslike.

Without saying a word, it raised its left hand and pointed at the Ruby Slippers on Dorothy's feet.

There was a pause; Dorothy didn't know what to do or say next; what could she possibly say to this thing? Would it even listen to her if she told it that she couldn't take the slippers off?

And then the Lion let out one of the loudest screams he'd ever produced yet, and charged; he cleared the space between him and the Tin Man in less than a second, thundering into the monster with a deafening _clang_; as they crashed to the ground, the Scarecrow yelled, "Run, Dorothy!" before hurrying to help the Lion.

What followed wasn't so much a fight as an out-and-out brawl. There was no art, no style, no finesse, and certainly no challenging cry of "put up your dukes"- just a continuous barrage of punches from both parties. The Lion wailed away at the Tin Man's head with his enormous paws, each blow jerking its head wildly from left to right, even as the Tin Man's fists slammed rhythmically into his stomach like twin sledgehammers, the sharpened fingers of the left hand sometimes arcing upwards to slash at his face. Meanwhile, the Scarecrow tried in vain to make some kind of difference, every attempt finishing up with him being kicked aside like a sack of dead leaves.

Dorothy stood, transfixed by the sight. She knew that it wouldn't take long for the Tin Man to fight the Lion off, but she couldn't just leave them here...

"Dorothy, _run! Now!"_

Galvanised by the scream, she picked up Toto and started running down the path, hating herself a little more with every step. And as the flat thudding of metal fists against flesh gently faded out of earshot, she wished with all her heart that she could be back in Kansas and away from the Tin Man, away from the Wicked Witch, and just away from _everything_...

And then, as she was beginning to think about turning around and running back to help, she heard a rustling noise to her left, and with a fresh thrill of horror realised that she'd forgotten to check her surroundings. Her heart racing, she turned just in time to see six winged shapes rocketing towards her. She had enough time to realise that one of them was holding a burlap sack, before the thing was thrust violently over her head; Toto, barking furiously, was wrenched out of her arms and tossed aside as six pairs of hands grabbed Dorothy under the arms, and hoisted her into the air.

The last thing Dorothy heard before she passed out was the sound of Toto barking angrily below them.

When she awoke, she was sitting on a hard granite floor in a cold, shadowy, dungeon-like chamber, bordered on all sides by heavy iron doors covered in locks and bolts.

And the Wicked Witch of the West was standing over her.

Dorothy had stood close to the Witch before, but even on their first meeting, she hadn't looked this angry; if her green face and sharp features had looked strange and unnatural when she'd first appeared in the town square, now, in the warped lighting of this dungeon and with all her hatred twisting it out of shape, it now looked downright horrific. And worse still, it looked as though she was trying to stay calm- and failing miserably.

"I assume you know why you're here," the Witch hissed. "Am I right?"

She couldn't answer; something in her throat had frozen solid.

"_Am I right?"_

Dorothy nodded quickly, pointing to the Ruby Slippers still on her feet.

"Good. But there's the problem: I've already tried removing them- both manually and with magic- but something is locking those shoes to your feet... something that only you can undo."

"What do you mean?"

The Witch took a deep breath. "I mean that only you can remove the slippers. So," and Dorothy could clearly see that the next few words were spoken through clenched teeth, "Would you _please_ take the slippers off?"

"I can't," Dorothy admitted.

"This is no time to be difficult with me, child," she warned.

"I'm not being difficult! I just can't take them off- I've been trying ever since you started chasing me, and I still haven't been able to!"

There was a quiet _splash_ from somewhere behind her, and Dorothy wheeled around to see one of the winged monkeys slowly creeping across the floor, a mop and bucket clenched in its fists.

"Not now, if you please," said the Witch. "And haven't I already told Chistery that I don't want you doing chores around the castle?"

The Monkey nodded sheepishly, set the mop and bucket down against the wall, and slowly knuckled away; as soon as it was out of the room, the Witch rounded on Dorothy again: "You listen to me," she said venomously, almost loud enough to be shouting by now. "I cannot make this any clearer than I already have; I want the Ruby Slippers _now_. And even if I can't remove them by hand or by magic, there are an awful lot of ways I haven't tried yet-"

"I'm telling the truth!" Dorothy screamed back. "I've tried and tried and tried but I still can't get them off my feet; I've had to _sleep_ while wearing these! If I could have taken them off, I would have taken them off and thrown them away!"

The Witch's eyes narrowed; then, she turned around and began to pace the room, lost in thought.

As she did so, Dorothy found herself unexpectedly listening to the gentle patter of water dripping out of the half-soaked mop; there was something rather soothing about that sound... that gentle, drip-drip sound... something very soothing indeed. As a matter of fact, she was beginning to feel relaxed, almost sleepy; she wanted nothing more than to lie down and sleep, even if the Witch was still raging close by.

Sleepy...

Sleepier...

_Sleepwalking,_ Dorothy thought quietly, _I'm sleepwalking._

And for some reason, the bucket of water suddenly seemed very important. Dorothy, still half-asleep, slowly rose to her feet, and began crossing the room towards it, not even caring if the Witch happened to notice her wandering around. As her hands closed around the bucket, she wondered absently if it would be such a bad thing if she were to throw it at the Witch.

Eight crowded seconds went by, and Dorothy awoke to find herself holding an empty bucket; the Witch was now dripping wet, and somehow looking even angrier than ever before.

"Exactly _what_ did you think you were doing?" she asked quietly, wringing the water out of her hat.

Immediately, Dorothy no longer felt sleepy or contented; now, she felt as though her insides had frozen. What _had_ she been thinking? What had come over her? The Witch would almost certainly kill her now! _I'm going to die,_ she thought to herself. _I'm going to die and nobody will ever know how it happened. Will Aunt Em wonder about what happened to me when the twister swept the house away? Will she ever find out?_

"You know," the Witch continued, "For a minute, I actually believed you; I thought you might actually be telling the truth. And of course, I should have known so much better than to even think of trusting one of the Wizard's lackeys: the moment I turned my back, you tried to stick a knife in it."

"W-what are you talking about?"

"I'm not stupid, child: you came here to kill me, and you thought- what with your head being filled with every single empty-headed rumour that's ever been told about me- that I could actually be melted by pure water!"

"I didn't! I came here because the Wizard said that he'd send me home if I brought back your broomstick for him-"

"Oooh," sneered the Witch, "Theft _and_ assassination! I'm sure your mother would be proud of you! I'm sure you'd be hailed as a hero back in Kansas! Actually, you'd probably be hailed as hero in Oz, too; they'd _love you _for that. Hell, they love you already just for landing a house on top of my sister and stealing her shoes; just imagine the applause you'd get for killing the Wicked Witch of the West while her back was turned-"

"_I didn't want to kill anyone!"_ Dorothy shrieked.

"Then explain why you threw that bucket of water at me!"

"I..." She stopped, realising that she honestly didn't know the answer; why _had_ she thrown the bucket of water? She remembered that bizarre spell of tiredness that had abruptly swept over her, and she remembered that it had started at the sound of dripping water, but why had it happened at all? What had been wrong with her? She swallowed hard, and tried to think of an answer. "I don't know," she admitted eventually. "It just... seemed like a good idea."

A mirthless smile glanced off the Witch's face. "I'm sure the Wizard's probably thinking the same thing right now. But as for you..." She waved a hand, and as if by magic (which it probably was) one of the heavy iron doors swung open with an earsplitting scream of ungreased hinges; as it did so, Dorothy was suddenly swept backwards across the floor and into the room beyond. She landed heavily in a pile of old sacking- presumably the bed- and awkwardly clambered upright just in time to see the door magically slam shut, trapping her inside and plunging the cell into near-total darkness.

"You can stay in there as long as you like," the Witch informed her. "If you want out, just take the slippers off; it's as simple as that." And before Dorothy could utter another word of protest, she turned and stormed off.

Sitting there, alone in the shadows, Dorothy wanted to cry.

The Lion and the Scarecrow were probably dead; Toto was roaming the wilderness, trying vainly to find her; and on top of everything else, she'd been locked in a dark room and her only means of escape lay in an impossible task.

But for some reason, she couldn't cry.

Much later, she realised that she hadn't been able to take in everything that had happened to her: she was too busy trying to make sense of it all to cry. So, she simply sat in the darkness, and tried to get the Ruby Slippers off her feet. Even if she already knew that she couldn't take the shoes off, she had to at least try; if she didn't, it was only a matter of time before the Wicked Witch decided to have the Tin Man pay her a visit.

But supposing she did manage to get the Slippers off? What would happen then? Would the Witch kill her? Would she let her go? Would Dorothy then have to make the journey back the Emerald City- _alone-_ just to explain to the Wizard that she'd failed and that she'd have to find a home for herself in Oz?

And among other stupid questions, why had she tried to kill the Witch?

What had she been thinking?

* * *

Boq arrived back at Kiamo Ko in the early afternoon, having spent the aftermath of his battle tying his defeated opponents to a tree before beginning his slow march back to the castle. He knew it wouldn't hold them for long, but so long as it kept the two of them out of his hair long enough for Elphaba to heal Nessa, he didn't care.

Unfortunately, as soon he lumbered into the castle, he had only to listen to Elphaba raging to herself to know that Dorothy hadn't been willing to hand over the Ruby Slippers; however, when he decided to listen closely to what was said, he found himself rather taken aback. For five whole minutes, Elphaba shouted about her newest captive, how she had lied, schemed, and even made a desperate attempt at assassination. Boq didn't generally pride himself on being a great judge of character, but for all her naiveté, Dorothy Gale didn't seem the type to willingly kill someone- even with something as patently stupid as a bucket of water.

However, his wonderings over the assassination attempt were just about overridden by Elphaba's concern over Nessa's deteriorating condition: according to the latest inspection, she still had several days to go before the healing magic finished knitting her spinal cord together and removing the shards of bone from her lungs- but less than seventeen hours of magic left to carry out this work. Even Elphaba couldn't arrest the decay of the magic- another reason for her growing frustration with Dorothy, and Boq's own corrosive agitation.

If Boq still had nails, he would have gnawed them anxiously; it couldn't end like this, could it? Fate couldn't be that sadistic- to let them finally secure the Ruby Slippers, only to deny them the power to actually use them or even get them off the wearer's feet before Nessa finally expired.

_How long will it take for either of us to try something rash, I wonder? Six hours? Ten? And who'll be the first to do so?_

_Probably me,_ he thought, as he watched Elphaba leafing wildly through the pages of the Grimmerie, looking for any kind of spell that could remove a foot from a shoe. And as her babbled litany of expletives and obscenities flowed past his remaining ear, an idea arrived in Boq's head.

It was a very stupid idea.

It was guaranteed to fail.

And Boq, being desperate and willing to try anything at that point, found himself marching towards the castle dungeons without Elphaba's knowledge, intent on making this stupid idea a reality.

* * *

Time passed in a blur of subtly-shifting shadows; for a while, she might have even been asleep.

Regardless of whether or not she was actually sleeping, what roused Dorothy was the sound of footsteps slowly approaching the cell door; at first, she thought it might be the Witch, returning to demand that she take the Ruby Slippers off and hand them over once again. Then she listened carefully to the footsteps, and noticed the metallic clanking within those quiet footfalls.

Her heart very nearly stopped: a vision of the Ruby Slippers being delivered to the Witch, the bloody stumps of Dorothy's butchered feet still in them, flickered in and out of Dorothy's imagination.

Then there was the sound of at least half a dozen locks, bolts and chains being undone, before the door finally swung open to reveal the Tin Man, gleaming ominously in the faint light. And once again, it was holding the dreaded axe in one hand; however, as it stepped inside, it put the axe down and leaned it against the door. Then, it began to slowly walk towards her; Dorothy hurriedly glanced around for some way of escaping, but the cell was too narrow for her to slip past the advancing monster. So, her heart pounding wildly, she stepped backwards until she was all but flattened against the back wall of the cell.

_It's going to ask about the Ruby Slippers,_ she thought,_ it wants to know if I'll take them off; when I say no, it'll take the axe and..._

Dorothy's mind scrabbled wildly for something to take her mind off the axe, and settled unsteadily on the fact that the Tin Man might actually speak to her. She wondered what its voice would sound like; if the Wicked Witch had built it, as the Lion had mentioned earlier, perhaps it might have a voice like hers- shouting, screaming, threatening. Or maybe it would have a quieter voice, a whispering, hissing, sibilant voice; maybe that was why it was so close to her now.

As the Tin Man lowered itself to one knee, Dorothy found herself growing very interested in its mangled face; it was quite horrible to look at, but at the same time, absurdly interesting. How many hours or days or months had it taken the Witch to build this thing? What had it been like to make such a nightmarish creature?

And what was it doing _now?_ It had reached into a small pouch at its waist, and drawn what could only be an inkwell and a sheet of paper from it. Then, leaning the paper against the stone floor and using its left index finger as a pen, it wrote _Heard you haven't taken the Ruby Slippers off yet._

Startled out of her own apprehension, Dorothy instinctively nodded. Evidently, the Tin Man didn't have a voice at all; this made sense- after all, why give a voice to anything built only to kill and destroy?

_Why not take them off?_The Tin Man wrote. _Why not put an end to all this? You'd be free to go afterwards, in the company of your friends when they arrive here; you have my word. So why are you still wearing those shoes?_

Dorothy honestly wanted to shout her answer, but she couldn't bring herself to raise her voice above a murmur: "Because I _can't take them off,"_ she said pathetically. "It's not that I don't want to- it's just that I can't take them off."

This time, the Tin Man didn't go back to writing; instead, it simply looked at her. Because one half of its face was utterly expressionless and the other half was lost in shadows, she could only guess blindly at what it might be thinking, and none of these guesses led anywhere pleasant. However, as it turned slightly to examine her from a different angle, a stray beam of light illuminated the right half of its face, and Dorothy saw that its right eye wasn't metal at all; from its right side, the Tin Man looked out at the world through a soft, chestnut-brown eye.

_You don't know why we want the Ruby Slippers, do you?_ It replied at last.

"No," Dorothy admitted. _Come to think of it,_ she added silently, _I don't _want_ to know._

_Then I think it's time you learned why. Follow me, please._ It stood, and crossed to the door, retrieving its axe along the way; as it did so, Dorothy couldn't help but notice that, for a moment or two, the creature's perfectly measured walk faltered: it staggered. Was something wrong with its leg? Could something made almost entirely of metal hurt its leg? As she slowly followed it out of the dungeon and up a flight of stairs, Dorothy was reminded of a man she'd met back in Kansas- a local doctor; apparently, he'd hurt his leg when he was younger, and now walked with a very slow, careful, almost soldierly march, but every once in a while, you'd see him stumble and almost fall- just as the Tin Man did.

Hours ago, on the trail from the Emerald City, the Lion had told her of another rumour: this one said that the Tin Man had once been human before a spell cast by the Wicked Witch of the West had transformed him into a metal monster, and it was starting to sound very likely to Dorothy... but it didn't explain why he was working for the Witch after all _that_. She pondered this as she was slowly escorted up the staircase, down seven different corridors, up another five to ten flights of stairs, far too many twists and turns to count...

* * *

Finally, they arrived at the door to one of the castle bedrooms; inside, the room was comfortable, furnished with an oak dresser, a chair, and a four-poster bed. Lying on this bed, with her eyes closed and her hands folded across her waist, was a woman; she looked quite pretty, as far as Dorothy could judge, with smooth, pale skin and dark hair tied back in a braid. However, what got Dorothy's attention was the fact that, along with a slightly rumpled black dress, the woman was wearing a very familiar pair of blue and white striped stockings.

"Is this-"

The Tin Man nodded.

"But... I thought she died when-" Dorothy stopped; the figure on the bed (_The Wicked Witch of the East,_ she reminded herself) didn't look as though she was sleeping. "_Is_ she dead?"

The Tin Man shook his head; then, gently taking her by the hand (her fingers almost vanishing into his gigantic tin palm) he guided her to the bedside, and very carefully held her hand just in front of the Witch's nostrils. Sure enough, she was still faintly breathing.

"How'd she survive?"

But Dorothy already knew the answer to that, even before the Tin Man pointed to the Ruby Slippers on her feet. _They protect her,_ he wrote hurriedly, leaning awkwardly against the dresser with the accompaniment of an uneasy creaking sound. _They heal her. But she was hurt when your house landed on her, and the slippers were removed too soon. She'll die without them._

"And that's why you and the Witch have been following me all over Oz?"

The Tin Man nodded solemnly, and wrote _If someone you loved was going to die, wouldn't you do anything to save them? This Aunt Em I've heard you talk about- if she was dying, wouldn't you go to any length to save her life?_

Dorothy bit her lip, and tried to think of a way to say no to this; she tried to tell herself that she wouldn't do the things the Tin Man and the Wicked Witch had done, that she wouldn't (or couldn't) challenge the Wizard, that she wouldn't break the law, that she _definitely _wouldn't kill. Eventually, she decided to stop thinking about this; after all, she'd tried to kill the Witch not too long ago, and for an even worse reason (none). So, she took a different argument altogether: "But the Munchkins said that the Wicked Witch of the East did terrible things to them," she began. "They said that she-"

Without warning, the Tin Man's fist hammered down upon the dresser with a crunch of splintering wood; as Dorothy jumped backwards in alarm, fully expecting him to attack her, he let out a long, ragged-sounding snarl of frustration, and began writing again. And this time, it wasn't in the neat, careful handwriting he'd used previously, but an angry scrawl: HER NAME IS NESSAROSE.

"I'm sorry," said Dorothy automatically. "I didn't mean to-"

The Tin Man shook his head. _It's alright,_he wrote._ It's not your fault; the people of Oz don't want to remember her name, or her sister's name for that matter: they don't want to think of them as people. That's why they call Elphaba the Wicked Witch of the West. That's why they call Nessa the Wicked Witch of the East._

Silence fell; after all, what could Dorothy possibly say to this?

Then the Tin Man began writing again, and this time, whatever he had to say was obviously quite lengthy. Dorothy peered around his shoulder to look, and saw that once again, the writing was beginning to unravel, growing faster and messier by the second: _As for the "terrible things" they did, Elphaba's only real crime was opposing the Wizard and what he was doing to the Animals. __And true, Nessa did terrible things- of which I was the cause. The laws she passed against Munchkins, the mass-imprisonments, my transformation- all my fault._

"You mean _she_ did this to you? But wh-"

_I deserved what happened to me, don't you understand? I broke her heart, I ruined her life, and all for a woman who'd never even look at me and I should have been thinking about what I was doing but I wasn't _

The Tin Man's left index finger tore through the paper, upsetting the inkwell and spilling ink all over the ruined dresser; for a moment, he just stood there, staring at the mess of torn paper and the puddle of ink spreading across the splintered wood. Dorothy had a clear view of the right side of his face at that point, and was sure that he was about to cry. But instead, he hung his head- as if in shame.

Slowly, the pieces of the puzzle began fitting themselves together inside Dorothy's head. "You're in love with her, aren't you?" she said at last.

The Tin Man nodded wretchedly. _And I realised it almost too late to make a difference_, he wrote, once he'd located another sheet of paper.

"But why are you telling me all this?"

_Because I wanted you to know why we wanted the Ruby Slippers; we don't want them as inheritance, we don't want them for their power, we just want to use them to save a life. And if you can't take the slippers off, I want you to know that if Nessarose does die, it won't have been your fault- it'll have been mine... and I will do my best to convince Elphaba to punish me in your stead._

And with that, he crumpled the piece of paper into a ball, and slowly shuffled away- no longer the heartless demon that had followed her every step of her journey from Munchkinland to the Emerald City, no longer the silent, unstoppable monster that the people of Oz feared and dreaded, but a sad, hobbling wreck lost in a maze of sorrows that Dorothy could scarcely understand.

Was the Wicked Witch of the West like this too? Did- what had the Tin Man called her?- Elphaba blame herself for what had happened to her sister? Had she cried to herself when she'd heard the news of her death? Had she celebrated when she'd discovered there might be a chance to save her? Just who was she, beneath all the cackling laughter and the blazing fury that Dorothy had seen in their last few meetings? Who had she been like before her sister had died? What had _happened_ to make her the way she was now?

The Tin Man had said that Elphaba's only real crime had been opposing the Wizard and what he'd been doing to the Animals. For once, Dorothy had an inkling of what had been meant by this: she'd seen the dirty looks that the guards had thrown at the Cowardly Lion back in the Emerald City, and heard a few of the things they'd said about him too:

"_Uppity little bastard, isn't he?"_

"_First bit of help we have against the Wicked Witches, and one of them's an animal that thinks it's a man."_

"_Filthy beast. Probably spying on us for the Witch."_

"_Just as well it's a coward; the specialists might have an easier time teaching it not to speak..."_

Dorothy wanted to stop thinking about this, to give her mind a rest from thinking about the Tin Man and the Witches but she couldn't; her thoughts were moving too fast to be stopped, or even steered in a different direction. Unless...

She turned hesitantly in the direction of the bed, where Nessarose still slept.

For a few seconds, she wondered what the woman had been like before the house had all but crushed the life out of her... and then a more important question arrived in her head: could Dorothy really bring herself to let someone die?

If the Scarecrow's last count had been accurate, she'd tried to take the Ruby Slippers off no less than fifty-seven times in the last day or so; that probably meant that they _couldn't _be taken off, right?

And the Tin Man had said that it would be his fault if Nessarose died, and that he'd do his best to make sure that Elphaba would punish him instead of her; Dorothy wouldn't have to worry about being blamed, would she?

And, of course, she didn't really know if the Tin Man had been telling the truth or not; maybe Nessarose deserved to-

No.

Suddenly, Dorothy knew that she couldn't and _wouldn't _just sit by and let this woman's life slip away; even if it was completely impossible to get the Ruby Slippers off, she wasn't going to give up so easily.

So she sat down in the chair, grabbed the right slipper by the heel with both hands, dug her fingers under the ruby-studded fabric, and tried to force it downward; once again, the shoe refused to budge. She tried again, even harder this time, gripping the slipper as hard as she possibly could, and once again she failed. On her third try, she ended up trying to kick it off her foot with the heel of the other slipper, and even that failed.

Just as Dorothy was beginning her eighth try and starting to wonder if she should look for a pair of scissors to try and cut through the slipper (for all the good that would do), she felt her fingers suddenly... _tingle..._

Her eyes clamped shut, she tried one last time, gripping the end of the shoe with all her might and _forcing_ downwards, not thinking about taking it off, but about Nessarose, about someone that the Tin Man and Elphaba would do anything for, about someone who'd die without whatever magic these slippers held, about someone who _didn't deserve to die_...

...and she suddenly felt the Ruby Slipper leave her right foot.

A minute later, she'd gotten the left shoe off as well.

Tottering on legs that felt as if they were made of rubber and holding the Ruby Slippers in hands that shook almost uncontrollably, Dorothy wobbled over to the bedside, and began outfitting Nessarose with them as best as she could; to her surprise, the slippers actually appeared to actually grow to fit Nessarose's stockinged feet. _Obvious, really_, she thought, sheepishly. _How else could I have worn them without them falling off?_

Once she was certain they were on, she turned around...

...and found herself once again face to face with Elphaba, previously known as the Wicked Witch of the West.

For a moment, her face was fixed in the grimace of rage she'd worn in their last meeting; then her eyes flicked to the Ruby Slippers on her sister's feet, and her expression slowly softened into an expression that Dorothy had never seen her wear before- one that looked as though it hadn't appeared on that face in quite a while: hope. There was a pause, as she slowly crossed to the bedside, and began whispering the words of a spell; Dorothy didn't know what she was doing, but she knew it had to be important- perhaps Nessarose' life might depend on it- so she stood to the side, keeping as quiet as possible.

A few minutes later, Elphaba turned to Dorothy, her eyes shining with tears and her voice hoarse and shaking: "I think... I think she's going to be okay."

She took a deep breath. "I know I haven't been too gentle with you," she said, hesitantly. "I know that I treated you horribly and that I didn't give you any good reason to trust me; I also know- from the magic around the Ruby Slippers- that you were telling me the truth about not being able to remove them... and that you only managed it a few moments ago by sheer willpower. That's why I wanted to apologise... and to thank you."

She sniffled, took another deep, shuddering breath, and continued: "The Tin Man told me that your friends will probably be here soon; you can leave with them as soon as they arrive. I won't stop you. And," she added suddenly, "You can have my broom, if you like. It's a small price to pay for Nessa's life."

There was a very long pause. Then, not entirely certain of what she was doing, Dorothy asked, "Can I stay until she wakes up- just to make sure she's okay?"

Elphaba blinked; in the even lighting of this room, her face didn't look nearly as strange and distorted as it had back in the dungeons, allowing Dorothy to see the astonishment written plainly on it. Lost for words, she nodded.

Then, she flung her arms around Dorothy.

* * *

From outside the room, Boq watched the two embrace; he hadn't expected Dorothy to take his honesty at face value, and he certainly hadn't expected her to be able to get the Ruby Slippers off, but regardless of the gambles he'd made and the risks he'd taken, he was glad to see that they had managed to pay off.

_And for once,_ he thought, with a lopsided smile, _a good deed goes unpunished._

_Question is, what happens next?_


	6. Reunions and Last Resorts

A/N: Gearing up to the climax, ladies and gents, and with any luck, the narrative hasn't collapsed under its own weight yet! Sorry that this chapter's so late; read, review and enjoy!

To all those who've review thus far, thank you all! Oh, and WickedProf- I haven't given up on the Shattering of Oz just yet...

Disclaimer: Wicked doesn't belong to me, and it never will.

* * *

By nightfall, the Emerald City's rumour-mill was in motion once again; less than a few hours after Dorothy Gale had set out to destroy the Wicked Witch of the West, a sharp-eyed traveller had seen her being carried across the skies by a gang of flying monkeys. Not too long after that, the Tin Man had been seen marching through the forest, up to its metal forearms in blood- no doubt that of Dorothy's companions. Unfortunately, the traveller hadn't specified wether the Tin Man was headed east or west, which meant that the city was now gripped by a crippling fear of attack by either the Tin Army or the Wicked Witch's debased mutants.

For once, the Wizard issued a statement through Madame Morrible attempting to dispel the worst of these rumours; Dorothy was _not_ dead, and neither were her companions. In fact, it was highly likely that Dorothy had already triumphed over the Wicked Witch. As for the threat of the two armies, if they even _existed_, it was even more likely that the Tin Man and the other metal soldiers would die with their horrid mistress and the mutants she had apparently created.

Once again, though, Glinda had nothing to say to the public: at the last press conference, she'd seemed downcast- even depressed- and who could possibly blame her? This time, though, she didn't even bother to make an appearance. Some spectators remembered the absence of Glinda's fiancé at the last press conference just a few days ago, and wondered if there was any correlation; others hypothesized that the Good Witch was working to reinforce the defences of the Emerald City, and defeat the approaching army alongside her fiancé.

Nothing could be further from the truth.

* * *

Glinda was relieved to see that the storm clouds surrounding Kiamo Ko had finally drifted away; though the Bubble was a decent enough mode of transport, she had no idea how badly it would perform in high winds or (Oz forbid!) when hit by a bolt of lightning. That, unfortunately, was the only improvement she could make to her mood at the moment.

In the last week or so, everything had gone wrong in the most catastrophic way possible: Nessa was dead in an "accident" that was starting to look uncomfortably like an assassination coordinated by Madame Morrible; Fiyero was dead too, tortured to death by his former regiment, and all of Glinda's attempts at seeing them brought to justice had been shot down by Morrible; as for Elphaba... grief-stricken, vengeful, and obsessed with taking the Ruby Slippers from Dorothy. And worse still, Glinda knew that it could only get worse from there- hence the reason why she was currently floating towards the castle of Kiamo Ko, hoping against hope that she could somehow calm Elphaba down before she did something rash.

For good measure, Glinda was also terrified out of her life; sooner or later, she was going to have to face the Tin Man. Oh yes, the appearance of the Tin Man had shaken her badly, for up until then, she had been able to dismiss just about every story told about Elphaba as rumour or outright fabrication: the Tin Man changed all that. She'd seen the havoc it'd wreaked across Oz, and she'd seen the photographs of it charging out of the blazing ruins, and most tellingly, she'd seen the expression of mounting fear on the Wizard's face. This _wasn't_ just propaganda; this was something that had the Wizard genuinely worried.

And if Elphaba had created the Tin Man, Glinda honestly wasn't sure what to expect from her old friend anymore. She wasn't sure if there was an army waiting to attack the Emerald City, she wasn't sure if there were any rampaging mutants, and she certainly couldn't expect what state she'd find Dorothy in. She could hope- only _hope_- that Elphaba hadn't gone completely mad...

The sound of a nightbird calling snapped Glinda out of her reverie, and she realised that one of the lowest towers of Kiamo Ko was less than twenty feet away and getting steadily closer. _Damnit, Glinda,_ she thought, hurriedly steering the Bubble towards one of the balconies. _This is no time to start impersonating a real bubble- even if you've been doing it for the past twenty-odd years of your life..._

Landing with a muffled thud, she stepped onto the balcony; finding the door unlocked, she crept inside, expecting to come face to face with a welcoming committee consisting. To her surprise, the room was empty, as was the hall.

"Elphaba?" she whispered, her voice sounding unnaturally loud. "_Elphie?"_

No response.

Barely keeping herself from shivering (and not just out of fear; the upper hallways were _very_ cold, and Glinda's dress didn't offer much protection from the elements), she tiptoed down the empty passageways towards the stairs, checking each room as she passed; to her growing confusion, the rooms, though still well-furnished, were all deserted, and nobody seemed to be patrolling the halls and corridors.

Had nobody seen her arrive? Didn't Elphaba have anyone on watch? She had the flying monkeys at her disposal, didn't she? Unless she-

A small avalanche of unwanted worst-case scenarios rumbled into her mind: that Elphaba and her army had left the castle and Glinda had come to Kiamo Ko for nothing; that Elphaba had gone completely insane over trying to get the Ruby Slippers off Dorothy and the flying monkeys were too busy trying to bundle her into a straightjacket to keep watch; that the Tin Man had gone berserk and murdered Elphaba, while the flying monkeys had all died trying to save her life; and perhaps worst of all, that Elphaba had simply committed suicide and everyone loyal to her had disbanded in misery. And to Glinda's fear-muddled mind, they all sounded horrifyingly possible.

_Please let her be alright_, _please let her be alive, please let her be sane, please let her not have committed murder..._

At long last, a lit torch on the wall broke the darkness, and Glinda sighed with relief; obviously, there was someone alive in the castle. But who was this someone? Elphaba? The Tin Man? Knowing her luck, it would probably be the latter.

There was a loud _clank_ from her left, and she wheeled around, her wand raised and her heart racing wildly. "Who's there?" she shouted as quietly as she could.

For a moment, there was silence; then, accompanied by a series of familiar clanks, the Tin Man lumbered into view, just as monstrous as every rumour, crude sketch and blurry photograph had implied- if not more so. Its infamous axe was nowhere in sight; Glinda was at first relieved by this, but then she remembered the story of the Tin Man marching home with the blood of the Cowardly Lion drying on its bare hands, and went right back to being terrified.

Then, it bowed.

It _bowed._

_O-kay_, Glinda thought absently, _at least I can probably throw out the possibility that the thing went homicidical and killed everyone if it's still bowing to visitors. Probably being the operative word._

She took a very deep breath to steady herself, and said, "Do you know who I am?"

The Tin Man nodded.

"Is your m- Is Elphaba still here?"

It nodded again.

"Can you take me to her?"

The Tin Man nodded once more, indicated that she should follow and immediately began marching noisily down the corridor. Not for the first time, Glinda found herself trying to pinpoint the exact point in her life where things had taken a turn for the downright bizarre, even as she followed the clanking metal construct through the hallways. Thankfully, as they descended the many staircases and stairwells towards the centre of the castle, the torches and lanterns grew in number, until Glinda no longer had to worry about tripping on the carpet.

The enormous room they eventually arrived in had obviously been designed to impress, judging by the enormous mural window overlooking the surrounding countryside- charred beyond recognition though it was. And, mercifully, thanks to the gigantic fireplace, the temperature in this room hovered comfortably above zero degrees Fahrenheit. But that wasn't what really got Glinda's attention; what _did_ was the sight of Elphaba seated in one of the larger chairs by the fire. She looked quite calm, all things considered- almost... melancholic. Was that because she'd had time to think about what she was doing, or because...

She looked up the sound of the Tin Man clanking into the room, and immediately saw Glinda standing in the doorway. "Glinda!" she said, evidently pleased to see her. "What brings you here?"

_Okay, Glinda; you've rehearsed your lines. You're not going to sound angry; you're not going to sound upset; you're going to ask what happened to Dorothy, and you're not going to ask the question as the Wizard's prize figurehead, but as Elphaba's best friend. Do not screw this up._

"Elphie," she said hesitantly, "I heard that you captured Dorothy a few hours ago. I know she has the Ruby Slippers, I know you think she helped to kill Nessarose, and I _know_ you want something to remember her by, but keeping the girl here isn't going to help you. I also know you probably don't want to listen to me right now," she continued, her voice growing louder and more upset even as she tried to get it under control, "but if you're going to blame anyone for what happened to Nessa, blame m-"

Elphaba put a finger to her lips, and without saying a word, pointed to another one of the chairs by the fire; this one had its back to the door, but as Glinda approached, she realised that _someone _was sitting in it. Peering around the side of the chair, she realised that this someone was none other than Dorothy Gale, fast asleep among the cushions, Toto curled up in her lap.

Her feet were bare; the Ruby Slippers were nowhere to be seen.

"She was more than happy to take them off once she realised why I needed them," Elphaba explained, an amused smile threatening to remove the top of her head. "You'd thought I'd gone completely over the edge, hadn't you?"

"Sorry," Glinda mumbled.

"Don't be; I haven't exactly been the picture of sanity in the past week. In fact, I'm quite sure I came pretty close to madness once or twice." She idly waved a hand at yet another one of them armchairs, which immediately rolled across the room towards Glinda, swivelling in the direction of the fireplace as it went. "I think you might need to sit down before we continue; the story can only get stranger from here, I'm afraid."

Glinda, who was feeling a little weak at the knees, all but collapsed into the waiting armchair. Then, as she made herself comfortable, a very important question occurred to her. "Where _are _the Ruby Slippers now?"

"With Nessa, where they belong," said Elphaba simply.

"So... you buried them with her?"

From somewhere nearby, there was a series of gagging, rasping barks, like the last agonised coughing fit of a man dying of terminal consumption; it took Glinda a minute or two to realise that it was the Tin Man laughing. Well, she assumed it was laughter; it wasn't possible to choke to death while smiling, was it?

Elphaba was smiling, too. "Nessa isn't dead, Glinda."

Glinda, who'd been settling down and feeling as though there was nothing that could possibly startle her at that point, blinked rapidly and tried to find a rejoinder to the conversation-stopper that had just been dropped in her lap; a confused mumble of "Um, _what?"_ was all she could manage. And to her shame, the only thing she could think of were the words _"she's gone mad,"_ repeated over and over again.

"She's very much alive," Elphaba continued. "And if you're having trouble believing me, she's lying just over there- I brought her down here once the temperature started dropping."

Glinda's head automatically turned in the direction Elphaba had pointed; to her left, lying on a divan so spacious it might as well have been a bed, was none other than Nessarose Thropp. Two very noticeable facts struck Glinda immediately: first of all, Nessa was wearing the Ruby Slippers. Seconds, she appeared to be breathing.

"With the Ruby Slippers healing her, she'll be conscious in a matter of days," said Elphaba happily.

"But... what... why... how... things... did... _what?_" Glinda took a deep breath, and tried to organise a coherent statement. "Okay," she said at last. "Nessa's back from the dead thanks to the Ruby Slippers; that... _kind _of makes sense, considerating how little I know about them. At least now I know why you had the Tin Man here rampage through so many villages while trying to get them."

Elphaba blushed a deep shade of avocado. "What can I say?" she mused sheepishly. "He did try to negotiate, but there's only so many ways you can do that when you can't speak and nobody's willing to read the "I SURRENDER" sign around your neck."

"Where did you find him anyway, Elphie? I've heard so many rumours about him, but..." Glinda suddenly realised that the Tin Man was looking quizzically at her, and trailed off. "Sorry," she mumbled. "I didn't mean to hurt your feelings or, um... anything like that."

By way of a response, the Tin Man emitted a short string of incomprehensible gargles; it sounded vaguely like "That's alright," but Glinda couldn't be certain.

"In any event," added Elphaba, "if you want to know his story, I think the best thing to do is to just ask him yourself."

Glinda thought for a moment. "What happened after Dorothy took the Ruby Slippers off? What happened to the Scarecrow and the Cowardly Lion?"

"I'm not sure you can call him cowardly anymore, Glinda..."

* * *

Standing on the roof of the keep, Elphaba had seen the Lion scaling the walls of the castle as best he could, snarling furiously all the way; with only a bit of salvaged rope and his own claws, he wasn't moving very quickly, but he was clearly making progress. Not entirely sure what to expect from the visitor, she'd stood back and watched as he'd hauled himself awkwardly over the battlements, tumbling to a heap on the roof; being too battered, bruised, and frazzled with adrenaline to think clearly, he didn't even notice her at first. Then, as he'd clambered upright, his eyes had focussed in her direction.

"Welcome," she said softly.

The Lion regarded her warily, but said nothing.

"You'll find Dorothy in the sitting room downstairs; she's handed over the Ruby Slippers as per my request, and as such, the two of you are free to leave. Assuming you don't want to wait for the Scarecrow, of course."

There was a deathly silence, as the Lion looked from her to the nearest door. Elphaba could clearly see the wheels in his head turning; _he's going to ask why I've changed, or if I'm planning any treachery,_ she thought. _And I'm actually going to have to show him that Dorothy's still alive._

At long last, the Lion spoke: "I didn't come here just to rescue Dorothy; I came here to find out what it was you did to me, and whether or not you can undo it."

Elphaba's jaw dropped. "What exactly did I do to you, then?" she asked, once she'd regained the power of speech.

Now it was the Lion's turn to look taken aback. "You don't know?"

"Know _what?"_

"But I remembered!" the Lion protested, his voice on the edge of hysteria. "You were there when it happened! You were there when I became a coward! You must have at least some idea what happened, wether you caused it or not!"

"I might," Elphaba soothed, "If you can be specific: what happened and when?"

The Lion's expression- already particularly miserable- sagged like a bloodhound's. "Was I important enough for anyone to remember?" he asked nobody in particular. Seeing Elphaba's questioning gaze, he carried on, his voice picking up speed as he grew more and more agitated. "I was just a cub; I was in a cage and someone was... was _yanking_ _out my fur with a pair of tongs _and someone was trying to inject me with something and I didn't know why and who was doing it but there were people watching and you were one of them! I saw your face! I..." He trailed off, having finally exhausted the worst of his panic.

Elphaba suddenly felt as though an iceberg had landed in her stomach.

"You're right," she said slowly. "I _was_ there; you were being used as a demonstration for a hack teacher's lecture."

"What was I supposed to be demonstrating?"

"Quite simply, the future of Oz's Animal population, as decreed by the Wizard; a process designed to force Animals into silence- into _non-sentience..._ which I'm glad to see didn't work on you, by the way. Although, that's probably because you were rescued before any lasting damage could be done."

The Lion could only gape. "But who rescued me?"

Elphaba considered this for a split-second; the Lion was obviously open-minded enough to understand that she wasn't directly at fault for his cowardice, but telling him of her part in the rescue might be a bit too much for him to accept. So, she settled for telling only half the truth: "One of the other students- Fiyero Tiggular. As soon as the teacher was distracted, he carried you out of the class- cage and all- and ran for the nearest forest." She bit back a furious sigh: she hated lying to this poor creature, even if it was only by omission; after all, he'd already endured too many falsehoods and exploitations to count, and adding to that tally wasn't really helping. Desperately looking for something to distract herself, she asked, "Do you remember what happened after that?"

"I wandered," said the Lion, flatly. "For years, I wandered about the forest, trying to survive, eating dead bodies because I was too scared to hunt, and all the while I was trying to figure out what happened to me; I was too young to remember exactly, but I kept having nightmares- and in every one of them, I saw your face. For years and years, I stayed as far away from villages and travellers as I could, so I didn't hear anything about you until a couple of months ago, but the moment I heard "green skin," I knew it was you. You had to know something- even if you weren't responsible for it, you had to know why I'd become a coward... and why I'm _still_ a coward."

Elphaba gaped in disbelief. "Are you serious? From what the Tin Man's told me, you were pretty eager to fight him in defence of Dorothy... and have you even noticed how you got up here? You risked death scaling that wall a minute ago!"

"Don't try and butter me up," the Lion sneered. "That wasn't courage; I was just too scared to think clearly." He sighed. "And besides, I'm not stupid: I know that I'll never have the slightest ounce of courage, and I know that the Wizard won't give me any; let's face it, he wouldn't have even agreed to see me if I hadn't been with Dorothy and the Scarecrow."

"Would you believe me if I told you he couldn't give you courage even if he wanted to?" Elphaba hazarded.

The Lion eyed her curiously. "I might, if you explained..."

* * *

"And that was enough?" Glinda asked.

"Of course not," admitted Elphaba. "He's still pretty sceptical, even now. In fact, he probably could do with confirmation from you, if you're feeling up to it."

"But what about the Scarecrow?"

Elphaba's smile rapidly faded. "He showed up an hour or so later, and... I was a little bit surprised, to say the least; as soon as he got inside, he walked right up to me and said, "You don't need to explain a thing; I know the Wizard's a fraud, I know he's manipulating the public and destroying the rights of Animals, and I know you're the victim of a smear campaign." And that was it."

"You're joking."

"If only I were; if I were able to lie that spectacularly, I'd have had a much easier time against the Wizard. But no, I can't make this up: he literally strolled in, told me he wasn't interested in fighting me or earning a chump prize from the Wizard, and waltzed off to the castle library."

Glinda leaned back in her chair, and marvelled at how suddenly the day had changed; Elphaba was still sane, Dorothy and all her companions were still alive, and there might just be a glimmer of hope on the horizon. True, nothing could bring Fiyero back from the dead, they still had the Wizard to contend with, and there was still the question of what the Tin Man wanted out of his mysterious partnership with Elphaba; but other than that, things were looking refreshingly optimistic.

Then she saw the expression on Elphaba's face. "What's wrong?" she whispered.

"When I first brought Dorothy here, she threw a bucket of water at me; now, at the time I honestly thought she'd meant to kill me, and it wasn't until I'd calmed down that I realised how little sense that made. So, I decided to examine her for any spells or enchantments, and I found that her mind had been tampered with- a bit of magically-enhanced hypnosis by the looks of things- courtesy of the Wizard; as soon as she found me and a suitable amount of water, she was supposed to try and kill me with it. But that's not what startled me: you see, once I'd successfully removed the tampering, Dorothy started remembering things that had happened while the Wizard was hypnotising her."

"Like what?"

"Well, for one thing, she'd seen him drinking from a little green bottle, and from the way Dorothy described it, it was just about _identical _to the one my mother left me."

Glinda's jaw dropped. "I've seen him drinking from that thing," she hissed furiously. "After you and Fiyero left, I saw him with it- he said it "numbs the pain" or something like that. Good grief, why didn't I even wonder about it?"

"More importantly, what's the connection between the two?" Elphaba drew her own bottle from the depths of her cloak, and studied it under the light. "When I was younger," she mused, her tone suddenly distant and contemplative, "I tried to figure out why this was so important to mother, why she'd kept it, and where she'd gotten it from. No luck there, as you can imagine: without any sign of who'd manufactured it and its contents, I was pretty much grabbing at straws." A wry smile crossed her face. "Guess that's just one more reason for me to have another little talk with the Wizard, right?"

"_No,"_ said Glinda, emphatically. "I don't care how lucky you were the last time, Elphie- I'm not going to see you die trying to get into the Wizard's palace again. Understand?"

"Well, in that case, there's another option; we get the Wizard to come here instead. Of course," Elphaba added sheepishly, "That's the trickier option; I don't know how I'd force him to leave the Emerald City without any guards or weaponry, and there'd be no way of telling whether or not he'd honour the agreement."

Glinda was opening her mouth to agree, when an idea flickered out of the blue and struck her side-on; for a moment, she puzzled over it, wondering if it'd even work- and then realised that she couldn't and _wouldn't_ let this one go to waste. "Elphie," she said slowly, "You've got four perfectly good hostages."

"Hostages?"

"Dorothy, the Scarecrow, the Lion, and me. Now that you've got the people terrified of you and the Tin Man, don't you think the Wizard would give _anything_ to have his top four popularity-boosters back?"

Elphaba blinked; then, she smiled. It was a small smile, and more than a little bit mischievously crooked, but to Glinda's eyes, she might as well have been jumping for joy.

"You are a _genius_," she said quietly.

Glinda offered her own crooked smile. "Not really; I just have the occasional moment of clariticity. Besides, hanging around Morrible for as long as I have, you do pick up the odd dirty trick here and there. Only trouble is, what are we supposed to do when the Wizard gets here? What are we supposed to say?"

"We'll think of something," said Elphaba. "After all, we've got plenty of time to plan out a letter to his Ozness. I think I might even have a way to get it into the palace without endangering any of the flying monkeys." She laughed, and stood. "I'm just going to check on our other guests- I'll be back soon."

* * *

The Scarecrow was waiting for her at the top of the stairs. "How is she?" he asked quietly.

Elphaba sighed deeply. "She's not as chipper as usual, that's for sure."

"But you didn't tell her what happened to me, right?"

"No, but she's in the same position as I was a couple of days ago- she thinks that you're dead and that it was her fault. Fiyero, I hate to ask this of you, but I think it _might_ be a good idea for you to try and explain who you really are to her."

"Why, so I can break her heart all over again?"

"Not if you work things out carefully," Elphaba wheedled. "I'm not saying you _should_ do it, but at least give it some thought. Please?"

Fiyero sighed, despite not having lungs or the need to exhale. "I'll think about it," he said. "For the moment though, let's just see how this negotiation thing plays out..."

* * *

A thunderous knocking at the door snapped Madame Morrible out of her reverie. Hastily dispelling the enchantments she'd been experimenting on, she strode over to the door in a whirl of faded green robes, undid all eight bolts, removed the security spells guarding the latch, and opened the door to reveal the Wizard.

Immediately, she noticed the expression of looming terror on his fact, and wondered what could have gone wrong this time; _just as well I have a contingentiation plan ready,_ she thought slyly. "Your Ozness," she said cordially, "What brings you here at this time of night?"

Without saying a word, he reached into the pocket of his coat, and held out a crumpled letter. Morrible didn't have to see the handwriting or the signature to see that it had been written by Elphaba, for all around the letter was the distinctive tingle of freshly-cast magic; no doubt it had arrived by way of a spell. What did surprise her was the message:

_To The So-Called Wizard_

_It's time we met one last time to negotiate; this time, we'll be discussing your policies head-on, and there will be no dancing around the issues this time. It'll also be a test of your claims to sentimentality, for I have both Dorothy and Glinda in captivity, and unless you want to lose them and all the political sway they gave you, you'll want to abide by my rules: you will be present at the gates of my castle within the next two days, alone and unarmed, or I will start killing hostages and leaving their corpses for your citizens to find. Don't bother bringing any troops with you: they'll be dead before they reach the gates._

_Abide by my rules, and you and this joke of a country might stand a chance of survival._

_Sincerely,_

_Elphaba, Wicked Witch of the West_

_PS: It might be advisable to wear brown trousers and a waistcoat the colour of blood._

"Dear God," the Wizard mumbled. "She's really lost her mind, hasn't she?"

"It would appear so, your Ozness," Morrible concurred. _Or has she? What is my old student planning?_

"What am I supposed to do? She may have gone completely around the bend, but she's right- we can't lose Glinda now, not after all the chaos she helped the citizens through!"

_With my help,_ Morrible thought bitterly. _If Elphaba had been in Glinda's position, she wouldn't have needed such promptery!_ "For the moment," she said out loud, "Cooperativity may be the only possible solution. Do you have a way of getting to Kiamo Ko in time without any citizens noticing?"

"I still have an unmarked carriage in the stables. It hasn't been used since before I was in power, but I've kept it well maintained-"

"Very good, your Ozness- I shall have the servants prepare it while you get prepare yourself for the journey. Meanwhile, I believe I may have a way of guaranteeing your safety during the meeting..."

It took five minutes of cajoling, reassuring, soothing and encouraging to get the Wizard moving; as soon as he was gone, Morrible swore quietly, marvelled at just how low her employer had sunk, and hurried to the backmost room of her quarters. As press secretary to the Wizard himself, she was given some of the largest and most luxurious quarters in the entire palace, with at least six rooms at her disposal; most of these, regardless of the comforts, were given over to various magical experiments, from vast and complex arrays of glass spheres and test tubes bubbling with arcane fluids, to relatively simplistic circles painted on the floor. There were even a few spirited attempts at mind control with mirrors, refracting crystals and crucibles of fresh blood- all failed, sadly.

Equally unfortunately, all but one of these marvellous experiments had been gathering dust for the last month as Morrible's workload grew and her spare time dwindled.

The one experiment that still retained her regular interest was a large octagonal wheel of bronze and silver hovering six feet above the floor, its outer rim carved with indecipherable words and its spokes delicately tapered to channel only the most esoteric magical forces. At its centre lay a tiny gemstone- an emerald, appropriately enough- which glowed ever-so-faintly as the plate spun gently. It was called the "Wheel of Dimensionality," and Morrible had found it deep beneath the palace, locked away within a vault remembered only by the most pedantic of record-keepers; its purpose, as far as she could tell, was to pierce the membrane between dimensions, allowing communication- or transportation- between worlds. Morrible, having noticed the speed in which the Wizard's government had begun to dissolve, had originally intended to use it as an easy escape route, but then she'd gotten a good look at the world it had first selected, and decided on a different use altogether...

... once she'd met the last surviving inhabitant.

Chanting the magic words of activation, she allowed the Wheel to align itself with the world it had selected. Then, as soon as the connection had been established, she whispered, "Nicholas, are you there?"

There was a faint hiss of air rushing through metal, and the voice of her contact whispered, "_Always here, Horrible Morrible. __There's scarcely anything in this place that holds my interest these days."_

"Would you be willing to leave your dimension?"

"_Perhaps. What for?"_

"Bodyguard duties; the Wizard has been forced to enter the field, and may need protection."

A long, drawn-out burst of droning, mechanical laughter echoed across the connection. _"Morrible, you cannot be that desperate or stupid; you remember what you saw on your brief visit."_

"I do. But though I _am_ desperate, I do have a way of securitating your loyalty- at least for the moment."

There was another explosion of monotonous laughter. _"Do tell, Horrible Morrible, do tell."_

"Glinda."

A deathly silence passed between the two dimensions.

"_She still lives?"_ Nicholas hissed._ "Glinda survived in your world?"_

"It would appear so; however, that may not last for very long. You see, she has been captured by the Wicked Witch of the West- in fact, the very reason why the Wizard needs your help in the first place: he will be venturing into the field to negotiate Glinda's freedom, and it's doubtful that he'll achieve anything without your assistance. Now, if you were to be rewarded with an audience with Glinda the Good for whatever sordiditive purpose you had in mind, would you be willing to help?"

"_Hmmm. Your proposition is enticing, Morrible. I believe I shall accept... on one condition; you tell the Wizard to stay out of my way. If the worst comes to the worst- which it will-, I don't want the old bastard getting under my feet while I'm trying to defend him. Is that clear?"_

"Perfectly."

"_Well then, how am I to enter your dimension?"_

"For reasons which will become clear to you, I cannot simply allow you accompany the Wizard to Kiamo Ko; I _can,_ however, give you a gateway to his side when the time comes..."

_And with any luck,_ Morrible thought, _I can trust you not to kill everyone in the building. I can only hope that I won't end up regretting this..._


	7. A Most Repugnant Bodyguard

A/N: The identity of the mysterious Nicholas is revealed. Like the twist? Don't? Provide constructive criticism, by all means! Either way, read and enjoy!

Disclaimer: I do not, cannot, and will not own Wicked.

* * *

The black carriage had been among the Wizard's most adored possessions, in the days before his meteoric rise to power had given him control of all of Oz; it had been a gift from one of a series of awestruck nobles eager to befriend the Man From Another World, and he'd used it to travel anonymously from one end of the country to another on whatever mad whim he'd wanted to entertain, dodging brigands and guard patrols alike as he peddled his wares- and enjoyed what his female customers had to offer in exchange. This carriage was sleek, luxurious, stealthy, and best of all, it was always drawn by horses fast enough to outrun angry husbands.

More importantly, it was also well-defended: the walls were reinforced with solid iron armour plates, the windows had been replaced with downward-sloping metal shutters, the doors were locked and bolted from the inside, and for good measure, he'd made sure that his newest driver was armed with a crossbow, a brace of pistols, and a small supply of hand grenades. Logically, all this meant that nobody could get inside the carriage without the Wizard hearing the noise and chaos that would precede it.

As such, he was more than a little bit surprised when he turned around and discovered that someone was sitting next to him. He was about to ask the stranger who he was and how he'd gotten inside, when he noticed the way his skin appeared to shine in the dim light.

"Aaaaa_mph!"_

"Shush, now. There's no need to scream, your Ozness; after all, I'm here to protect you."

"Mmmph? Mph mphh rrrr uuu?"

The intruder smiled: it was not a very pleasant smile, in that it would probably look more at home on the face of a shark. "I'm going to take my hand off your mouth in the next ten seconds; if you have any overwhelming desire to keep your limbs attached to your body, _you will not scream_. Is that clear?"

"Mmmph."

Slowly, the intruder relaxed its vicelike grip, allowing the Wizard to move his jaw again. "Who are you?" he whispered frantically, once he'd recovered.

"Madame Morrible often calls me Nicholas. You can call me Mr Chopper, if you like.""

"But how did you get in? Why do you look like-"

"An unfortunate resemblance, no doubt," said Mr Chopper smoothly. "But it's explainable: your press secretary decided to track down a bodyguard ideal for your purposes, and here I am- straight from another world. That small gemstone charm she gave you before you left was a proximity-triggered dimensional gateway, allowing me to join you as soon as you came within a hundred yards of the Witch's castle. And we _are_ within a hundred yards, aren't we?" He peeped theatrically through the shutters. "It certainly looks like it."

The Wizard, who'd already been panicking over having to confront Elphaba alone and unarmed, was almost too terrified to respond. However, after several seconds of vowelless gibberish, he managed a whimper of "Yes. But," he added, trying to salvage a bit of coherency, "I'm supposed to enter the castle alone; the carriage is meant to drop me off about fifty yards from the castle, so how are you going to get in?"

"I can be _very_ stealthy when I want to be," said the bodyguard with a meaningful wink. "Besides, I've visited Kiamo Ko before, and I know the layout off by h... well, let's just say I've got it fully memorised."

The carriage suddenly rumbled to a halt, and the driver helpfully shouted that they had arrived at their destination. "Very well then," Mr Chopper purred ominously, slowly cracking his knuckles. "You go first, Mr Wizard. I'll be with you shortly... and if Morrible hasn't already told you, when the time comes for me to land the killing blow, stay out of my way if you don't want your brains decorating the walls. Take my meaning?"

The Wizard nodded, offered his best reassuring smile, opened the door and leapt from the carriage as if it were on fire.

As he jogged quickly across the charred grassland, his coat flapping wildly about him as he went, the Wizard tried to comprehend what had possessed Madame Morrible to give him such a volatile bodyguard; then he wondered if she knew something about Kiamo Ko he didn't; then he wondered if Elphaba had gotten so powerful and so unrestrained that he'd actually need Mr Chopper's help just to protect himself from her... and then, with a frustrated groan, he decided to stop adding problems to an already overcrowded list of them and start focussing on the ones that were in range.

Before long, the walls of Kiamo Ko loomed over him; the gates were open, but he could see that the battlements were swarming with flying monkeys, all of them glaring balefully down on him. And there, beneath the archway, he could see the Tin Man himself shining eerily in the faint light, beckoning him inside with an outstretched metal talon.

The Wizard shuddered, remembering what he'd seen back in the coach. If he turned back now, not only would he lose his last chance at keeping the increasingly desperate public under control, but Chopper would probably mince him to death for denying him a brawl with Elphaba and the Tin Man. On the other hand, if he went inside, Elphaba and the Tin Man would probably kill him, Glinda, and Dorothy anyway, and as a final show of power, send Chopper back to whatever strange and monstrous world he came from. Yep: damned if he did and damned if he didn't all around.

Sighing haplessly, he squared his shoulders, shook a few errant blades of dead grass from his coat, and forced himself not to think of the words "lambs to the slaughter." Then, feeling like a man being led off to the gallows, he strode towards the waiting escort, trying not to look scared but failing, failing miserably every step of the way.

* * *

Glinda and Dorothy had been talking quietly for some time by the time the Wizard was led into the room; ever since she'd woken up, Dorothy had been exploding with questions, not least of which was "Why did you lie to me?" And Glinda, knowing that her already shambolic career was dead in the water and no longer giving a damn, joyously flung caution to the wind in answering those questions, with Elphaba occasionally adding the odd helpful remark.

"This country," she'd said, "_runs_ on lies. It's not just that the Wizard lies to people, but that's certainly part of the problem- it's that the people have been lied to so often and so grandly that they've actually come to enjoy. They _want_ to be lied to, and in the last few years, the Wizard's gathered a whole team of expert liars just to keep the people happy."

"...and up until a few hours ago, I was one of that team," said Glinda. "_Was_ being the operativital word," she added, scarcely bothering to conceal her glee.

"But when did this begin?" Dorothy had asked. "How did the Wizard even end up in charge?"

"Simple: he waited until anyone that could have stopped him was either dead or actively working for him, and then pole-vaulted himself into power. Then, of course, to keep people from wondering too much about what he'd done, he made sure that the animals got the blame for anything that went wrong. And the-" Elphaba's head suddenly turned in the direction of the hallway; as one, all three of them fell silent- and immediately heard the footsteps approaching.

Seconds later, the Wizard appeared in the doorway, Boq ensuring that he wouldn't try to run for it. As expected, the Wizard was nervous, ashen-faced, and fully expecting to be attacked as soon as he set foot in the room. However, as his eyes swept across the room and eventually focussed on Glinda, and Dorothy sitting calmly around a fireplace, a look of shock slowly replaced the fear; then he saw the Scarecrow and the Lion seated close by, looking at him with undisguised contempt, and his expression turned to utter disbelief.

"We were _just_ talking about you," said Elphaba, smiling mirthlessly. "Hope the journey wasn't too much trouble. You're not armed, I trust?"

The Wizard was too busy gaping, so the Tin Man nodded and gargled in the affirmative.

"Good. Now," Elphaba announced, with an air of mock grandiosity, "Dorothy, Mr Lion, and Mr Scarecrow, allow me to introduce you to the Wizard. Unfortunately, I don't know his real name, so-"

"What's going on?" the Wizard interrupted.

"I thought it was obvious," Elphaba shot back. "Not only have you sunk so low that you're willing to try hypnotising children into assassins, but you've started believing your own propaganda. You're slipping _badly."_

The Wizard took a deep breath, obviously trying to recover his affability. "Elphaba," he said at last, "What exactly was I supposed to think? You'd gotten so angry in the last few days that nobody knew what to expect from you anymore."

Elphaba laughed bitterly. "Oh, no, no, no, no- _you_ didn't know what to expect anymore; your citizens _never_ knew what to expect, not really."

"That doesn't change the fact that you were having this Tin Man character murder dozens of people-"

Boq let out an indignant snarl that all but propelled the Wizard out of the doorway, and after a couple of seconds of scribbling, held up a piece of paper reading _I did that of my own volition- more than can be said for your attempt to turn Dorothy into a killer. Don't blame Elphaba for what I did._ He thought for a moment, and then scrawled an addendum: _besides, it's not as if they didn't shoot first._

"Alright, alright," soothed the Wizard, backing away from the Tin Man with impressive speed, "I'm not arguing that, I'm not arguing that at all. You needn't to get angry with me." He laughed nervously. "I mean, this isn't a hostage situation anymore, is it?"

"It never was a hostage situation," said Glinda coldly.

"Aha. Point taken." He smiled, trying to look accommodating. "You obviously want a few changes made to the laws of Oz, and now that I'm here, I suppose I'm prepared to make them. I mean, it's not as if I can threaten you with anything, is it? So, tell me- what can I do for you?"

Elphaba's frown deepened; she'd expected a bit more reluctance from the Wizard, and his eagerness to comply seemed to be due to more than simple fear. And there was something about the way he'd darted away from Boq... she bit her lip, and decided to carry on with the plan; after all, there was no way of knowing exactly what the Wizard was concealing until their proposal was made. She coughed, and announced, "Before we talk about what laws need to be changed-"

"Need?" the Wizard echoed.

"Oh, I'm sure you'll excuse me for thinking that the state-sanctioned torture of Animals needs to end."

"That wasn't my idea, Elphaba- I mean, yes, it's true that I made Animals into a national scapegoat, I told you that much, but it wasn't my idea to start driving them to silence or to have them caged. And I won't deny that when the hard-line anti-Animal groups proposed it, I gave them right of way, but that's no-"

The Lion cleared his throat with a sound that made the panes of glass in the mural window rattle. "Didn't you just admit you created the anti-Animal groups in the first place?"

"No I didn't! What on earth gave you th... oh. Okay, I admit that you have a point there- yes, I _may_ have inspired their creation, but I promise you I had no direct part in their establishment!"

Elphaba coughed loudly once again. "Moving on from that... one of the reasons I decided to call you here in the first place was because of this..." She drew the little green bottle from her cloak, and held it to the light. "Does it look familiar?"

Very slowly, the Wizard drew his own green bottle from one of his cavernous pockets, and hesitantly approached Elphaba; a few seconds passed as they compared the two bottles, and realised that they were perfectly identical. The Wizard's eyes narrowed. "Where did you get that?" he asked softly.

"It belonged to my mother," she said simply. "And where did you get yours?"

"As manufacturer, I'm entitled to a supply of my own product," the Wizard replied, snidely. "But sales for the Green Elixir were never particularly promising and I never built up a decent client base. So, I must ask- what was your mother's name?"

"Melena. Melena Thropp, to be specific."

The Wizard's expression froze. "She was wife to the Governor of Munchkinland, wasn't she?"

"That's right."

All of a sudden, the Wizard appeared to have forgotten that he was standing in the house of his enemy, surrounded by people who despised him; he was staring intently at Elphaba, his brow furrowed with concentration, as if he were trying to put a name to the face of a forgotten acquaintance. After a minute of muttering under his breath, his eyes widened, and an astonished smile began to spread tentatively across his face. "My lord," he mumbled. "Then she... she..." He blinked rapidly, and suddenly, his expression paled. "Oh my God," he hissed. "We have to get out of here. _Now,"_ he added urgently.

Elphaba rolled her eyes. "You're not going to get out of explaining yourself that easily; now tell me, why did my mother buy the elixir from you, and why would she have kept the bottle?"

"She didn't _buy_ it- we shared it! But that's not the point- the point is, we've got to leave right now, before it's too late!" There was a pause, as the five of them eyed the Wizard suspiciously. "Oh for God's sake, I'll explain; Madame Morrible wasn't willing to agree to your demands, so she sent a bodyguard after me, a man from another world apparently. I only met him once just before I got out of my carriage, and the man's clearly out of his mind; he said he was going to try and kill you-"

There was a sudden burst of laughter from the doorway on the other side of the room- loud, metallic, and somehow monotone. Standing there, positioned so that the dim torchlight behind him rendered him almost impossible to discern, was a roughly humanoid shape; although it clearly had the correct number of limbs and the same basic format, something about its imposing frame and crooked posture made Elphaba wonder where Morrible had obtained this bodyguard. Eventually, the laughter died away, and it spoke: "I warned you not to get in my way, Mr Wizard."

"Look," said the Wizard desperately, "Whatever Morrible offered you, I can pay you twice as much; money, power, anything-"

"Standing up for the Witch, are we? My, my, how her influence corrupts everything; I'd imagine Morrible would _want _me to kill you now- after all, she wouldn't dare see the ruler of Oz in thrall to its deadliest enemy."

"Would you please _listen?_ Things have changed; she's my-"

"I know who she is to you, you philandering old shit. I was there when you discovered the truth, after you had me kill her the first time; I was there when you heard the news, when your mind snapped like a twig, just looking at her face and knowing how _easily I'd detached it_... And don't bother offering bribes- I have everything I could possibly want here and now: another chance at revenge, a chance to see Glinda again... and a chance to have a nice little chat with my counterpart about his allegiance..."

And with that, the bodyguard stepped into the light, drawing a well-sharpened axe from behind his back.

There was a dreadful pause, as the Tin Man's own axe clattered to the floor.

"Allow me to introduce myself," purred the apparition. "Nick Chopper, at your service- though Boq no doubt knows me by a different name..." He grinned, showing rows of gleaming metal teeth. "Bit like looking into a carnival mirror, isn't it?"

* * *

Boq could only stare in horror, unable to move or speak- only take in the jarring similarities and differences that he could see in the bodyguard. Where _his_ tin body was monstrous and disfigured, the stranger's was a gleaming paragon of magical construction; where _his_ limbs were alternatively skeletal or oversized, the stranger's were perfectly symmetrical; where _his _face was just a skull with a metallic remnant of his old face attached to it, the stranger's was... well, a face rendered in tin. More than that: it was _his_ face.

Somehow, the bodyguard that Morrible had hired was a perfected replica of himself.

Another Tin Man.

Another Boq.

* * *

The Wizard, his eyes flickering wildly across the room, tried to determine who Mr Chopper would attack first; if he was thinking of taking revenge on Elphaba, he'd probably make straight for her, killing whoever got in the way. But then, it might be just as likely for him to systematically murder everyone in the room, beginning with Dorothy, who was the closest to him. Whatever the case, the Wizard wasn't going to see Elphaba die- not now that he had learned just who she was. So he knelt down as fast as his old bones could manage, reached into the heel of his left shoe, and drew the vial he'd concealed in it before he'd left the palace; then he threw it as hard as he could right at Mr Chopper's face.

The homemade smoke bomb worked exactly as planned, filling the room with dense clouds of black smog; and- thank God- nobody needed to be told what to do next: Dorothy immediately grabbed Toto and ran for the other exit, followed swiftly by the Lion, the Scarecrow, and Glinda. As for Elphaba, the Wizard grabbed her by the cloak and dragged her down the corridor as fast he could, leaving the Tin Men to fight it out.

He'd barely gotten fifteen feet before Elphaba had struggled loose and punched him in the side of the head.

"_Ow!_ What was that for? I'm trying to get you to safety-"

"I can take care of myself, you idiot; I actually have magical power, unlike you. Besides, Nessa's still in that room, and if that maniac finds her, there's no telling what he'll do."

"Nessa? But-"

"Oh for- look, your press secretary's assassination attempt failed, and Nessarose is alive but unconscious in the room which you just dragged me away from!"

"But you can't just go back in there- Chopper will kill you!"

"Why do _you_ care all of a sudden? You were perfectly happy to have me assassinated the other day, so why the sudden concern?"

"_Because you're my daughter!"_ the Wizard burst out.

There was a deathly silence, broken only by the sound of an axe clanging violently against magically-reinforced tin. "For God's sake, Elphaba," the Wizard murmured desperately, "Why else do you think your mother would have kept the bottle around once she'd finished off the elixir with me? It was a keepsake of our-" He stopped: he wanted to say "a keepsake of our relationship" but they hadn't really had much of that, did they? Melena had been lonely, and he'd been in the mood for enjoying a pretty girl while her criminally boring husband was currying favour at some halfassed assembly; neither of them had been interested in forming a deep and meaningful relationship.

And now Elphaba was staring at him with a mixture of horror... and disgust. "My mother had an... _affair..._ with _you?"_ she whispered hoarsely.

The Wizard nodded helplessly.

"Then... you were the reason I was born green," she continued, her voice growing more and more ragged with every word. "Weren't you?"

"It's very probable," said the Wizard, quietly.

"You were the reason for everything, for mother dying, for Nessa being born crippled. And you know, I actually thought you could make me normal, back when I actually believed the lies you told Oz, when I still believed in you, and now I find that you're the very reason why I'm..." She was in tears, now, trying vainly to speak but only producing angry sobs.

And then, before he could even think about what he was doing, the Wizard put a comforting hand on Elphaba's shoulder. The reaction was immediate: she spun around, grabbed him by the collar and flung him bodily down the corridor with a scream of "GET AWAY FROM ME!"

"Elphaba-"

"GET OUT! I _HATE_ YOU! _I NEVER WANT TO SEE YOU AGAIN!_"

By the time the Wizard had clambered to his feet, Elphaba was already in motion, charging back down the corridor, back towards the duelling constructs...

...As the sound of shattering glass brought the duel to a sudden end.


	8. Origins of Insanity

A/N: Here we go, ladies and gentlemen- the second-last chapter. I hope you've enjoyed this one, because in a week or so, it'll be at an end; read and review, my friends!

Disclaimer: Wicked does not belong to me. I've checked with all my counterparts across the different dimensions, and none of them own it.

* * *

_Deep inside his echoing tin skull, the mind of Nicholas Chopper (formerly known as Boq) is a warped, ruined mess: his psyche has been so catastrophically shattered that to compare it to a broken mirror simply wouldn't work. This is a mirror that has been smashed to pieces, each piece ground down to powder, fused back into glass and smashed to powder all over again. But as his mind takes in the sight of Glinda fleeing the room, some of the scattered particles of his sanity begin to cluster together, slowly taking on a new shape._

_This dust has assumed shapes before, but always at random, always visions of a world as dead as his heart: of skies crimson and black above forests of petrified trees and scorched-barren wastelands, broken only by the occasional pool of syrupy black water almost as toxic as the air. The land is covered with scars garnered during the war that obliterated its people: mass graves of animals and rebel humans executed by the Loyalists; the old artillery pieces used by both sides, long since corroded beyond repair; the ruins of Loyalist fortresses gutted and destroyed by Rebel magicians. And all around them, ruined cities and blasted villages, citizens lying where they'd fell- not rotted, but horrifically preserved by the alchemical weapons that killed them._

_But this time, the dust latches on to the sight of Glinda, and takes on the shape of Oz _before_ the war: _

_It is just a day after his transformation, and Boq is lurking in a cornfield, trying to get to grips with what he has become and not entirely sure how to react to Nessarose' death. He is fearful, he is ashamed of his new form, and he is teetering on the very brink of psychological collapse, but he is safe- because Glinda is nearby. Her presence gives him the strength to hold onto the last fragments of his sanity._

_He follows her through the cornfield, being very careful to stay out of sight, trying to pluck up the courage to beg her for help. But she is approaching a clearing and..._

_Suspended from a rough assembly of poles, Fiyero Tiggular is being methodically beaten about the face with the butt of a guardsman's halberd, while another guard is slowly crushing Fiyero's feet with a wooden mallet; what little of his face that can be seen under all the blood is purple and black with bruises- the young prince is handsome no more. At the sound of Glinda's approach, a young guard-corporal turns without bothering to sheathe his knife; he looks quite young- perhaps nineteen at the most._

_The corporal greets her pleasantly enough, but Glinda isn't in the mood for politeness or flattery: she wants Fiyero released immediately and taken to a doctor immediately. Without dropping his smile, the corporal informs her that he can't do this for a number of reasons: firstly, this man is not only an accomplice of the Witch, but a traitor; even if the guardsmen had the authority to release him, they wouldn't dare allow a defector to roam free. More to the point, the traitor is still being questioned, and it may take some time before he confesses to where the Witch has fled to._

_But Glinda isn't interested in excuses. The argument skids on for another ten minutes, with Glinda insisting that the guards take Fiyero down from the poles and at least try to stop him from bleeding to death and the young corporal listing the reasons why he can't do this and getting progressively impatient. Unfortunately, as a final attempt to placate her, the corporal adds the fact that Fiyero had forsaken _her_ in favour of the witch and is now being justly punished for it- whereupon Glinda smacks the corporal in the head with her wand._

_And in a fit of pique, the guardsman returns the favour- completely forgetting that he is still holding a knife in his hand._

_Glinda has just enough time to take a step back, so that the blade misses her face and tears through her throat, slicing cleanly through the jugular and splattering both herself and her attacker with blood. There is a horrified pause as every single man in the clearing stops to take in the sight of Glinda the Good, mortally wounded and staring back at them in disbelief; then, she very gently collapses to the ground. Instantly, she is surrounded by guardsman trying in vain to staunch the bleeding, all of them shouting, swearing, panicking and flinging accusations at one another._

_And Boq can only watch; he wants to run to her side, but his limbs refuse to move. He can only stand and watch as the woman he has coveted from a distance for the last few years of his life dies, choking on her own blood, her last words almost lost amidst the last tormented gasps for breath:_

"...Elphaba..."

_Then, very slowly, she goes still._

_And behind the stalks of corn, Boq sinks to his knees, feeling as though he has just been stabbed in the chest with a dagger of ice, the hollow where his heart once sat alive with pain. Inside his skull, thoughts are slowly fracturing, taking vast tracts of his sanity with them, and all he can do is try not to scream as his mind shreds itself to pieces._

_The guards begin arguing amongst themselves: several of them want to have the young corporal fired on the spot, to have him arrested, to have him executed right there and then. After all, Glinda was loved and revered throughout all of Oz, and anyone who dared strike a blow against her was guaranteed the loathing of its people, to say nothing of the guardsmen who'd actually seen it happen. But the captain- Fiyero's replacement- will have none of it: if anyone were to find out what had happened, the entire unit will be disgraced; they are already treading on thin ice following Fiyero's betrayal, and another scandal like this could sink them for good._

_Grudgingly, the men agree. After a few more minutes of arguing, they eventually decide to pin Glinda's murder on the Wicked Witch; it made sense- hadn't the two been fighting when the guards had found them? It would be easy for the Witch to be blamed for the death, provided they thought out their alibi carefully enough. The incompetent corporal should be punished, but gently, so as to not arouse suspicion: perhaps a posting to somewhere he wouldn't be likely to return from, like the Deadly Desert. Of course, they'd have to make sure that Fiyero didn't say anything-_

_There is a pause, as they realise that the ex-captain is no longer dangling from the poles behind them; their captive is gone. Desperately, they search the cornfield, hoping to follow the trail of blood he should've been leaving, but find only a few lengths of straw._

_Less than six feet away, Boq is laughing very softly; he is faintly aware that his eyes are blurry with tears, and he knows that Glinda has died and taken his last pathetic hopes of acceptance with her, and he knows that his head hurts with the thoughts burning through it, and oh glorious Oz he hates himself and he wants to tear his eyes out and to kill everything that ever lived starting with himself... but he can't get over something that the guard captain had said- that Elphaba should be blamed for what had happened. _

_The captain was correct, so correct that it's absolutely hilarious: Elphaba was to blame. She'd not only transformed him at the behest of her sister, but she'd led Glinda to this situation, hadn't she? She'd drawn her to the cornfield with Fiyero's torture; if she'd been a friend of Glinda, if Glinda had meant anything to the Witch, then she would have been there to help, she would have been there to save her life or at least be there to mourn her passing. Where the hell is she? Why couldn't she have helped?_

LOOK WHAT SHE DID!_ Boq's mind shrieks from the flaming wreckage of his sanity._ LOOK AT WHAT HAS HAPPENED BECAUSE OF **HER!**

_...and in that blazing instant, Nicholas Chopper is born from those charred fragments of personality._

_He knows what he has to do._

_He has to kill Elphaba._

_And a few short days later, having accrued a gaggle of companions he never wanted from one end of the Yellow Brick Road to the next, received an entire page of orders from the Wizard that he wasn't interested in obeying, and having wasted far more time than was necessary, Chopper finally arrives at Kiamo Ko. _

_But to his outrage, Elphaba surrenders her neck to his axe- willingly, calmly, and almost gratefully. Dorothy is left whimpering at the "horror" of the sight, but a few harsh words silences the brat readily enough, and all four of them march back to the Emerald City in silence; the Scarecrow is in a particularly dark mood for most of the journey, Oz only knows why. But then, Chopper's still fuming over the fact that Elphaba hadn't even put up a fight and is currently trying to soothe his nerves with the trophies he managed to secure: he's carrying the Witch's head, after all, along with just about everything she'd had in her pockets- including that mysterious green bottle._

_In the end, Chopper presents the Wizard with both the head and the bottle._

_Not long afterwards, the first suicide attempt is made, and the Wizard is dragged away in a straightjacket. With his Ozness spending retirement in a padded cell, Morrible having taken his place, Dorothy left stranded in Oz, and the country's populace utterly baffled by the shift in the political landscape, the Scarecrow takes the opportunity to steal the Grimmerie and go underground. He reappears a week later with a small army of rebel animals, including the Lion; they demand that Morrible surrender her power to a democratically elected leader, and that the anti-Animal laws be repealed._

_Those loyal to the Wizard and Morrible initially believe that the animals will be alone in this revolution- and are quite dismayed when a number of humans join the Scarecrow's army: some are members of the army protesting Madame Morrible's grab for power, others have been harbouring sympathies for the animals for years and only just gathering the confidence to speak out. There are even a few magicians among the ranks, having left the Wizard's employ now that his replacement is no longer interested in paying for their services. The list of demands begins to grow..._

_Eventually, Morrible and the loyalists hire Chopper as a "negotiator," augmenting his body with enchantments before sending him out to disrupt the Scarecrow's demonstrations; Chopper, having nothing else to occupy his time but his own frustrations, takes to the job with bloody enthusiasm. Eventually, as the demonstrations become riots, the army are forced to join in, sometimes even trying to frighten the protesters with artillery barrages. The Press Secretary turned President even goes so far as to bombard the gatherings with lightning to disperse them on one occasion. _

_But what finally sets the Scarecrow and his army to war is the death of the Lion, courtesy of one Nicholas "Tin Man" Chopper. It isn't an assassination, per se- after all, Morrible had been on the brink of agreeing to the demands of the rebels if only to prevent an outright civil war, but Chopper has come to enjoy violence, and he isn't interested in seeing the fun end so soon._

_But truth to be told, Chopper doesn't remember much of the war that results; he recalls the faces of the Rebels he killed in battle, and recalls that a few of his victims might just have been Loyalists. He even remembers the spectacular mass grave he created after learning how to see Elphaba's corruption. But other than that, everything blurs out of sight. He isn't even sure how long he spends on missions or lurking around the increasingly fortified palace for his next assignment: the only thing that marks the procession of months is the slowly changing sky, as the collision of alchemical weaponry and weather magic begins to discolour and poison it._

_So lost in his own blood-streaked world is Chopper that he doesn't even notice when the orders from his superiors stop flowing. The first he knows of the collapse of the Ozian government is on a brisk morning six months after the conflict began, when he looks up from throttling a young woman to death and realises that the village he'd been sent to investigate is empty. After wandering for days, he finds that the surviving population of Oz has fled across the borders on anything that could cross the Deadly Desert without dying; those too scared, stubborn or stupid to leave died en mass, leaving him alone in a country so contaminated and ravaged that nobody would ever think of resettling it. The Wizard is dead, having finally succeeded in chewing his wrists open. The Scarecrow is dead, having burnt to ashes with Elphaba's name on his burlap lips. As for Morrible and Dorothy... well, he catches a glimpse of them fleeing the capital together, but he presumes that they will not last long. After all, how can a withered old woman and a traumatised child survive a journey across the hell that Oz had become?_

_Weeks went by, and Chopper roams the country aimlessly, occupying his time with almost anything he can think of; he buffs his tin to a gleaming finish; he plays around with some of the props and disguises the Wizard once used, before hanging his corpse from one of the tallest buildings left standing in the Emerald City; he builds a pyramid of human skulls gathered from some of his own victims; he even tries to build a statue of Glinda, before he realise that the face appears to belong to Nessarose, whereupon he kicks the thing to pieces in a screaming fit._

_He begins to worry that he is going a bit eccentric: he begins experiencing curious doubts over what he has done; he hears whispering voices and the patter of feet on the periphery of his senses; once, he even feels a twinge of unwanted remorse._

_But somehow, it all seems worthwhile: every single pint of blood spilt in the name of his own angers and sorrows, the weeks and weeks of solitude that followed, all of it has been validated; for now, he now stands in another Oz, a world as pristine and unsullied as his once was, and he knows that Glinda is within reach once more. But first, he has to fight for the privilege of her company; he has to kill his misguided counterpart, and the Witch who commands him. He also has to kill all who she has corrupted- the Scarecrow, the Lion, and yes, even the child._

This, _he thinks quietly_, is going to be **so** much fun_..._

* * *

It hadn't taken Boq long to learn that his other self had a serious advantage: not only were Chopper's legs perfectly symmetrical, but they worked perfectly too; he didn't limp, hobble or shamble his way across the room. Instead, he darted about the room with incredible speed and agility, his legs blurring gracefully as he charged through the dissipating clouds of smoke, his axe swinging towards Boq in a deadly arc.

Fortunately, while Boq's legs were crooked and misbegotten, his arms moved swiftly enough to deflect the blow. Equally fortunate, the enchantments that Elphaba had placed upon his body still retained some presence, meaning that any of the attacks that he couldn't block glanced harmlessly off the magical shielding; they couldn't last forever though. Before long, they'd fade, leaving Boq with only the defences his tin body could afford him. And at the speed Chopper moved, those mightn't last very long at all...

"You know," said his other self, as he sidestepped one of Boq's wilder swings, "If anyone here really surprised me, it's you. I mean, anyone in your position with the slightest bit of brain would have set out to kill Elphaba the moment they'd seen themselves in a mirror; but then, you don't have any sense, do you?"

... and Boq's temper wasn't holding up well against Chopper's jibes, either: the man didn't seem capable of shutting up; throughout the entire battle, he'd been talking, joking and laughing that weird, monotonous laugh of his as he dodged and parried the swings aimed in his direction. He'd rambled on about what he'd love to do to Elphaba, how he'd had so much fun tearing her head off, and what he was going to do this time, and all the while, Boq could only do his best to hold the bastard off and hope that he wouldn't notice the figure of Nessarose lying on the divan not six feet from him.

As Boq raised his axe for another swing, Chopper's left foot shot out and hammered into his chest, propelling him across the room and into the wall; for a moment, he struggled to rise, until he noticed that his counterpart was too busy talking at him to attack- which was just as well, because Boq's legs couldn't find purchase enough to lift him upright.

"I have no idea what compelled you to join forces with Elphaba; did your mind collapse in on itself at some point during your transformation? Judging by how badly that went, it certainly looks the case. So, care to give me an answer, or has the cat got your tongue-"

Boq, who'd already heard enough to hate this version of himself, brought the monologue to an unscheduled stop by snatching up a mahogany chair and flinging it at Chopper; as the talkative construct tore the thing to matchsticks, Boq charged as quickly as he could, bringing his counterpart thundering to the ground. Unfortunately, even pinned to the floor and bombarded with punches, Chopper was still a lot quicker; a swift lunge under the next strike, and a dart to the left, and he had Boq in a headlock. "It's not very nice to interrupt, my friend," he giggled. "You'd have learned that if you were ever pitted against me in the war-"

Boq elbowed Chopper hard in the gut with a satisfying BOOOONNNNGGGGGG of warping tin, and wriggled free, kicking his parallel self across the room with a grunt of "shut up". Attempts at coherency aside, he knew he had to finish this lunatic off as quickly as possible: the enchantments defending him were almost gone.

"I think not," Chopper sneered. "I've got a lot more to say, things that I've only said to _corpses_ up until now." He hauled himself upright with the aid of (Boq's eyes widened in horror) the very divan that Nessa was lying on; then, his eyes alighted on the figure asleep beneath the blankets. Slowly, he drew the covers away from her face... and froze.

"What," he said quietly, "is _this_ doing here?"

There was an icy pause. "Why isn't she dead?" he hissed, the venom in his voice almost as palpable as the shock. "She's supposed to be dead; she's supposed to be lying under the Brat's house, dead and rotting. What is she doing here, and why is she alive?" His voice suddenly rose to a shout: "WHY ISN'T SHE DEAD?" he roared furiously. He looked wildly from one end of the room to the other for an answer, and eventually settled on his counterpart: "_YOU!"_ he accused. "YOU'RE RESPONSIBLE FOR THIS, AREN'T YOU? YOU SAVED HER LIFE EVEN AFTER WHAT SHE DID TO YOU, TO ME! YOU KEPT WORKING FOR HER SISTER EVEN AFTER WHAT _SHE_ DID TO US!"

With a bloodcurdling scream, he launched himself at Boq, his axe threshing the air in front of him; but anger made him clumsy, and on the third swing of the axe, Boq was able to seize him by the arm, toss the axe aside and tackle him to the ground. Pausing only to curse his own incoherence, he snatched up a bit of parchment, and scribbled _We deserved what happened to us; we broke Nessa's heart_ before shoving it under Chopper's nose.

Chopper laughed mechanically. "The little bitch didn't _have_ a heart, you self-deluding little traitor; I lost so many years of my life to the cripple, and what did I get in return? Nothing but this body and the chance for revenge- which the little whore invalidated by _dying._" He laughed again. "But perhaps Nessa being alive in this world isn't such a bad thing- perhaps now I can finally take some well-deserved vengeance..." Chopper's right hand snaked towards his axe, and flipped it with astonishing accuracy toward Boq's face; as he struggled to stop his head from ringing, Boq intercepted a sharp jab to the chest that toppled him across the room, leaving him to roll dazedly to a halt just in front of the gigantic window.

He was just getting to his feet when Chopper strode purposefully over to him, and delivered yet another brutal piston-kick to the torso; this time, there was no sturdy wall to fall against, only an awful lot of glass and a flimsy metal framework. Boq ploughed cleanly through the window, ripping the intricate structure to pieces as he left both the ground and the building and shot into thin air.

The last thing he saw, in the split second before gravity took hold and sent him plummeting towards the earth, was his other self, standing at the window, leering triumphantly down at him.

* * *

Elphaba, her face still streaked with angry tears, arrived in the room just in time to see Chopper crossing the room towards Nessarose, axe in hand, giggling monotonously. She couldn't be sure if Boq could have survived the fall or not- she couldn't even be sure of what condition his body would be after it hit the ground- all she knew at that moment was that Chopper was going to kill Nessa.

He was already raising his axe to strike when the first surge of raw magic knocked it out of his hands; the next one blasted him off his feet, propelling him headlong into a small coffee table, where a tendril of magic snaked around his waist and tossed him into the fireplace- which, with another spark of energy, exploded into a blazing inferno. And Elphaba let her powers and her rage stoke the fire to a temperature which would almost certainly melt Chopper to slag; at no point did any of the small library of spells she'd memorised from the Grimmerie enter her mind, nor did any of the other magical techniques that she'd been taught back at Shiz- only _this_, the earliest and most potent expression of her power.

Once upon a time, the most she could have done with this was project a few startling green lights and wheel Nessarose' wheelchair back to her; now, it turned the fire an electric blue as it held Chopper inside the fireplace, pounding him into submission with all of Elphaba's fury- the anger that after all that'd been done to save Nessa's life, this madman was trying to kill her, compounded by the nasty little revelation she'd been subjected to less than five minutes ago. All of it, from the painful fact that the Wizard was _her father_, from the downright humiliating fact that the truth had been right in front of her from the moment she'd learned about the Wizard's bottle of green elixir- all of it fuelled her assault against the Other Tin Man.

Finally, Elphaba released her grip on her energies, her anger spent- for the moment anyway...

... and saw Chopper staggering, glowing a dull red and slightly dented, but otherwise unharmed. _He's been augmented with defensive enchantments,_ she realised,_ just like I did with Boq. Question is, who enchanted him and how much abuse can the enchantments take?_

"Well, well," the Other Tin Man whispered said softly, brushing imaginary dust from his shoulders, "it seems that some just can't wait their turn. I remember how eager you were to put your head on the chopping block last time..."

"_What_ are you talking about?"

"Oh, you were listening when your father told me that I came from another world, Elphaba: it's not too different from yours, but in my world, the Land of Oz is dead, and has been for quite some time. You'd have loved to see the war that killed my Oz, Elphaba- it was waged for your cause, after all..."

The mantelpiece abruptly tore itself from the wall above the fireplace and crashed spectacularly into Chopper's head. "You'll have to do better than that," he said smugly.

Elphaba snarled her frustration, and tried to think of what to do next; did she have the energy to blast away Chopper's enchantments and mangle him into scrap metal? Maybe so, or maybe not, but she might have just enough in reserve to toss him out the window- assuming a four hundred foot drop would be sufficient to kill him. She toyed with the idea of calling Chistery and the Flying Monkeys as reinforcements, but a swift dose of reality killed that idea almost immediately: not only was she not sure if they could even lift him, but it was almost certain that Chopper would kill a great many of them.

And then, just as she was readying her attack, the Wizard appeared at her side.

"What the hell are _you_ doing here?" she hissed.

"Trying to save your life," he whispered frantically. "You run – I'll distract him."

"And leave my sister undefended? _You_ run for it."

"Not to interrupt any heartwarming reconciliations," said Chopper loudly, "But I think you should know that I can actually hear what the two of you are saying. Don't bother trying to run; it's very hard to move with an axe embedded in your spine." He spun the aforementioned axe in his hands. "I'm a _very_ good shot."

Elphaba took a deep breath; this would be her first attempt at real diplomacy, but it might be a better alternative to being minced to death when Chopper's defences refused to collapse under her next barrage. "Look, Chopper," she said soothingly, "I know you're angry at what my sister did to you back in your world, but she did it to save your life."

"Do explain."

"The transformation spell she cast- it was to save her life. Now, in your world, it worked much better than it did here, but-"

Chopper laughed bitterly. "You think that your halfwitted cripple of a sister could create _this?_ Oh no no no no no no, Elphaba, in my world, _you_ did this to me; in my world, you saved my life- only so your sister would never have to give up her favourite toy. But I escaped! I ran and hid, and when I Nessa died and took my plan for revenge with her, I decided to go after you. I did everything I could to track you down: I joined Dorothy, and I put up with her constant moaning about wanting to go home; I put up with the Lion's endless whining and the Scarecrow's pretentiousness, I vowed before the Wizard himself to assassinate you, I even led the Witch hunters in their charge on Kiamo Ko... and then you took all the joy out of it by surrendering, _by letting me kill you!"_ He was screaming now. _"You didn't even beg forgiveness for what happened to me, FOR WHAT HAPPENED TO GLINDA!"_

And then the Wizard did what was simultaneously the bravest and stupidest thing in his entire life; seeing that Chopper's attention was focussed upon Elphaba, he took off his coat, and holding it in both hands, dashed towards Chopper- apparently intending to pull it over the insane construct's head. Unfortunately, Chopper heard him approaching, and seized him by the throat: pausing only to toss the coat aside, he thundered over to the nearest wall sconce, and hung the Wizard on it by the collar of his shirt, leaving him dangling a good three feet off the ground and unable to escape. "Enjoy the show," he added nastily. Then, he began to advance on Elphaba again...

"Wait!"

Chopper very slowly turned around to see Glinda standing in the doorway, her wand raised to strike; and even though she was pale and shivering with nerves, Elphaba didn't doubt for a minute that she'd actually use it.

For a moment, she felt a deep surge of admiration for her old friend; then she wondered if Glinda had made any improvement to her magical talents in the last few years, and went back to worrying. And then she saw the faraway look on Chopper's face as he examined the slight figure readying to attack. He'd said something about wanting to see Glinda again, hadn't he? But what had happened to Glinda, back in whatever insane world he'd been recruited from? What was going on behind those glaring metal eyes?

"Glinda," Chopper whispered softly. "It's good to see you again. You needn't have run off so soon, by the way; I wasn't going to hurt you. After all, we've known each other for a very long time, you and I..."

Elphaba sighed wearily; not only was Chopper getting the two worlds hopelessly confused, but he was also operating under the same obsessive delusions that his other self had only managed to conquer through self-loathing and physical trauma. But then again, Boq (the real one) was still delusional, after a fashion; he'd merely deluded himself into thinking that everything that had happened to Nessa was his fault, and that everything that Nessa had done to him was justified. _I'll need to have a word with him about that once this mess is over and done with,_ she thought, _assuming he's still alive... and assuming Chopper doesn't kill us all. _

Glinda, meanwhile, didn't seem convinced by Chopper's air of gentility. "How would I know you from anywhere?" she asked flatly. "I _was_ listening when the Wizard had told us you were from another world, you know."

"Yes, but its history is so closely tied with yours... well, up until I killed Elphaba and the war began, but that's another story for another day. I don't exactly blame you for not recognising my face; after all, you couldn't recognise my counterpart's face. But tell me, would you happen to remember a tragically beautiful girl in a wheelchair?"

"You're standing a few feet away from her- of course I remember."

"And you remember feeling so sorry for her, because you and Fiyero and a dozen other students were off to the Ozdust ballroom and leaving her behind, right? So, do you remember the lucky Munchkin you arranged as her date- the one who'd been asking _you_ for a dance earlier that day, perhaps?"

Glinda's jaw dropped; her eyes widened in realisation. _"Biq?"_ she whispered.

"It's _Boq,_" Chopper replied, his voice resolutely polite. "Or it was, anyway. I changed my name- in case you hadn't noticed."

"But... but... but that means that the Tin Man must be... "

"Just like me, yes. But then, you've probably noticed he's utterly insane by now; still serving the Witches even after all that they did to him. So many years of servitude to the Wicked Witch of the East, so many years enslaved to a spoiled, bullying cripple, it drove him around the bend and up the spout- only reason why the poor fool's still at her beck and call."

"She has a name, you know," said Elphaba quietly.

"A name which she no longer deserves," Chopper shot back.

"And why's that_? _Is it because of what she did to the Munchkins or what she did to you?"

"Both."

"And you don't think that was at least partly your fault? I mean, you did break her heart, _Biq_."

It was about one of the most childish attempts at a distraction that Elphaba had ever made, but she knew that it had worked: Chopper's left cheek was beginning to twitch. "I've already told my drooling imbecile counterpart this much: your sister never had a heart to break."

He turned to Glinda, sighing bitterly. "As for you, Glinda, you wasted far too much of your time trying to make the little harlot happy; you wasted even more of it by taking Elphaba's side."

"And why's that, may I ask?" said Glinda indignantly. "I've been friends with her since university-"

"So was the Glinda I knew; look what good it did her. She died in my world- because of _you,"_ he hissed, rounding on Elphaba. "She was murdered because she took your side, and because you couldn't be bothered to save her life- one of a series of innocents you corrupted then abandoned to their fates: the Lion, Dr Dillamond, Fiyero, Glinda, all of them discarded by you!"

"That's as maybe," Elphaba replied coldly, "But I'm not the Elphaba you knew, _Biq_."

"Bullshit. You're exactly the same: same thoughts, same mind, same filthy, distorting influence... exactly the same. But you're going to die a bit differently this time; you're not going to die peacefully or gracefully. You're going to die screaming in pain and anguish, with your sister's death still fresh in your debased brain. And you'll thank me for it," he said, turning to Glinda with sudden optimism in his voice. "One day you'll thank me for it. Her influence is a disease, a plague; why else would the Wizard in my world kill himself? Why else would his counterpart here defend her?"

"You're crazy," said Glinda. "You're completely and totally out of your mind, do you know that?"

"On the contrary, Glinda, I see things more clearly than I ever could have before my transformation." Chopper's voice was distant, almost ethereal. "I can recognise the corruption she spreads- like black veins twisting through people, through building, whole countries, even. And I can see it in you, but you can be cured. You can be redeemed... and all you have to do is trust me." He extended a hand. "Please," he whispered. "I've wanted to help you in any way I could ever since I met you; I won't abandon you like my counterpart did; I won't break your heart, I won't betray you, and as long as I live, I will _never _hurt you. Just... please, trust me."

There was a deathly pause, as Glinda exchanged glances with Elphaba. Then, her wand swished upwards and a beam of intense light shot in Chopper's direction- perhaps the most powerful magic that Glinda had ever utilised: it was clearly the same spell that she'd often used to cut the ribbon at opening ceremonies, but deliberately overpowered to such an extent that Elphaba actually felt it rip through Chopper's magical defences and start cutting through his right shoulder.

A moment later, Chopper's right arm hit the floor with a clatter.

As the echoes died away, he looked down at the severed limb with an expression of profound disappointment. "Not a wise move, Glinda."

The arm let out an earsplitting shriek of metal on metal, and began clawing its way across the floor with astonishing speed towards Glinda, clearing the last few feet with a pounce; it didn't quite succeed in grabbing her by the neck, but it did manage to latch onto her arm and began swiftly grappling its way towards her throat.

Elphaba immediately stepped forward, chanting the words of a spell that would flatten Chopper into a hubcap. But Chopper had been ready for the magical onslaught this time; his left fist swung around and crashed into her side with a gruesome crunch of splintering bones. As she collapsed to the floor, flickering in and out of consciousness, Elphaba realised somewhat abstractly that her ribs had been broken, which might explain why she was having such difficulty speaking the next words of the spell. Through the veil of flickering lights covering her eyes, she saw that the deranged tin man was now going through a speedy but methodical check of all the door locks, pausing only to retrieve his axe along the way.

Then, he began the slow, leisurely stroll towards Nessa, humming tunelessly and swinging his axe cheerfully to and fro; with the Wizard dangling helplessly from a sconce, Glinda trying to flight off the disembodied arm, Elphaba in too much pain to concentrate on magic, and all the doors locked, nobody would be able to stop Chopper from killing Nessarose. He could afford to take his time.

Now looming over the divan, Chopper looked contemptuously down at the comatose figure lying upon it. "If only you were awake," he mused sadly. "I'd have the chance to explain how much I lost because of you and your sister." He raised his axe, and-

There was a deafening crash, followed by a loud, inarticulate scream as a gleaming silver blur dashed into the room as fast as its crooked legs could carry it; even though the intruder didn't bother to stop moving, Elphaba already knew that it was Boq- battered, dented and his magical defences currently hanging in tatters, but very much alive and pissed off. His path carried him across the room, giving him just enough time to snatch the renegade arm from Glinda's throat before he dived at Chopper.

* * *

Boq was beyond furious; he was beyond apoplectic; he was in the throes of a rage so potent and tempestuous that the only word for it could be "apocalyptic." It wasn't because he'd a chance to listen to whatever Chopper had been rambling about as the others tried to fight him off or negotiate with him or whatever they'd been doing; it was because, as he'd been hauling himself out of the crags below, he'd been thinking about Chopper's response to his one attempt at communication:

"The little bitch didn't _have_ a heart, you self-deluding little traitor; I lost so many years of my life to the cripple, and what did I get in return? Nothing but this body and the chance for revenge- which the little whore invalidated by _dying._"

Not a single thought of remorse or regret; just deluded self-interest.

It was loathsome.

It was disgusting.

Worst of all, Boq knew that it was the kind of dark and unpleasant train of thought he himself would have entertained in the days before his transformation.

After all, Chopper really was just another version of him, wasn't he?

And it sickened him: seeing all his bitterness, all his selfishness and cowardice magnified by a thousandfold and glazed with a kind of rambling madness that seemed so appropriate to his personality, it nauseated Boq. The fact that this vision of _what he could have been_ was trying to kill Nessa only stoked his hatred further. By the time he'd arrived back inside the castle and found his way to the right corridor, he was in the grip of a fury that Elphaba would have been proud of.

He wanted to see everything about this thing, this _echo,_ dead.

He wanted to see that smiling, self-righteous face pounded flat, and the body torn to shreds.

Now, back in the present, he lunged at his other self with a scream of hatred: he barely registered the fall to the floor, the surprised look in Chopper's eyes, and even the struggling of the disembodied arm. He only knew that he was hitting him with it, again and again and again, first puncturing what little remained of the mystical defences, then thundering down on Chopper's tin, again and again, crumpling it and eventually breaking through it, tearing down into what lay beneath. And every time he landed a blow on the other Tin Man's skull or his torso or any other part of his body that happened to be within reach, he attacked every part of himself he'd come to despise: every stupid mistake, every selfish decision, every mad aspiration, and every self-pitying whine he'd uttered when it had all gone to shit.

And it came as something of a surprise when, after five minutes of this, Glinda's voice abruptly cut through the bloody haze surrounding his brain: "Boq..."

Somewhere in the depths of his battered tin skull, a long-dead thought process sparked to life, exclaiming, _she remembered my name!_ But Boq very quickly stamped the guttering thought into oblivion almost immediately; he'd long since abandoned his misguided fantasies of managing to earn Glinda's attention, and anyway, he had his duty to Nessa to attend to. Then, he realised that Glinda had something other than his name:

"Boq, I think he's dead; you can stop hitting him..."

He looked down at the figure of Chopper, and realised that Glinda was right: his counterpart was lying dead before him, his body crumpled and his skull all but ripped apart, his badly dented eyes staring blindly at the ceiling. And it could have been the way his face had bent under the last onslaught of punches, but he appeared to be smiling- as if not comprehending what had just happened.

Slowly, he rose from the corpse and turned to the others, and assessed the situation: the Wizard looked shaken, but otherwise unharmed; Nessa was very much alive, though still unconscious, of course; Glinda was unhurt apart from some scratches around her arms and neck; as for Elphaba, she looked to be in serious pain, but she'd at least managed to clamber to her feet. As Boq watched, she staggered over to Chopper's mangled body, and waved a hand: instantly, it exploded into flame.

"Just to be safe," she said through gritted teeth.

Boq watched as Chopper's remnants slowly melted away, and found himself unable to suppress a sigh of relief, for not only was the defective bodyguard dead and Nessarose safe, but somehow, he felt as though a weight had been lifted from his shoulders; the guilt and shame over his misdeeds had lessened, and he felt closer to true freedom than he'd ever felt in his entire life. Of course, he still had to wait for the remaining sixteen days of Nessa's coma to pass before he could truly feel at ease...

As Glinda fussed over Elphaba's injuries, the Wizard was clamouring to be helped down from the sconce. Eventually, Boq hobbled over and untangled him from the wall fixture, all the while trying to pretend he wasn't enjoying the looks of terror the aging fraud was sending in his direction. "You know," he said, as he tottered back towards the two Witches, "I think it might be time we continued negotiating. After all, we never got around to your demands before."

Elphaba took a deep breath, and winced. "Were the words "I never want to see you again" so hard to understand?" she snapped irritably.

The Wizard once again looked aimlessly about the room for support. "Glinda," he said desperately, "Could you-"

"Would both of you calm down, _please?_ Elphie, you wanted this meeting in the first place; why have you changed your mind?"

"Because he claims that he's my..." Elphaba suddenly looked as though she'd swallowed a lump of arsenic. "... my father."

Glinda blinked. "Look," she said wearily, "I've just been attacked by the right arm of a psychoticated bodyguard from another world, found out the Tin Man used to be somebody I knew back at Shiz, and now you spring this on me. I am well and truly lost; could somebody please explain what's going on?"

"So long as we can at least try to talk things out afterwards," said the Wizard, "I've no problem with that. Besides, I think Elphaba needs to hear the whole story."

Elphaba sighed deeply. "Very well then; I suppose it couldn't hurt..." She winced. "And speaking of which, I think I might need something for my ribcage before we continue. Oh, and Boq?"

Boq snapped to attention.

"Could you please put that arm down?"


	9. Resolution

A/N: Well, readers, here it is- the ending, in which plot threats are tied up, guilt is relieved and Madame Morrible has her words flung back in her face for the 1278th dimension running. I'm sorry it's so late, but family events have delayed my writing somewhat. In any event, I hope you've enjoyed this story. Feel free to provide criticism if you feel it's warranted, and above all, read, review and enjoy!

Disclaimer: Wicked does not belong to me.

* * *

For forty-five minutes, the Wizard explained himself as best he could, with Glinda occasionally asking questions, and Elphaba glowering quietly as the healing magicks began to slowly repair her cracked ribs. Every so often, the conversation was interrupted, first by Chistery and several of the flying monkeys scampering in to fuss over Elphaba. Then, half an hour later, Dorothy, the Lion and the Scarecrow came trouping back, having spent some time trying to find their way about the hallways and corridors; apparently, Chopper had been clever enough to ensure that none of his targets could leave the building by locking and barricading certain exits, leaving the three of them to roam aimlessly until they gradually found their way back to the sitting room.

In the end, however, Boq, Fiyero, Dorothy and the Lion had decided to leave the room as the story grew more sordid, and Elphaba grew ever angrier; the remainder sat in the few chairs that hadn't been completely demolished in the fight between Boq and Chopper, and listened to the story unfold. Once the Wizard had finished, Elphaba leaned back in her chair with a stifled wince, and glared balefully at her "father." She doubted that she'd even be comfortable with this particular fact, but at least she'd accepted it enough to keep her temper from fraying whenever it was stated.

The Wizard appeared to be waiting for a response. Eventually, Elphaba hissed, "What do you want me to say? That it would have been so much better if you'd remained a snake-oil salesman? That a cuckolded husband should have shot you dead before you'd had a chance to stage your coup?"

Glinda cleared her throat loudly; she was doing her best to stop the tensions from spilling over.

"I'm not saying you have to start liking me," wheedled the Wizard. "I'm just suggesting that you at least get to know me a little better before you start judging me."

"Why? So I can see you as a womaniser and a con artist as well as a dictator? In case you haven't noticed, I've been judging you for several years now, and the fact that you had an affair with my mother _and_ got her drunk on your botched product isn't going to improve our... relationship. And," she added, with a fresh burst of hatred, "As for you trying to play father _now_ of all times, you've made it clear that you couldn't have given a damn about what became of my mother once your one night together was over and done, so why would you even bother?"

"But I've changed since then, Elphaba; I won't deny that I was irresponsible in those days, but I've had a lot of time to think about what I really wanted out of life since then. Don't you remember when you and I first met, how I told you that I wanted to be a father? I was being honest when I said that!"

Elphaba's smile could have shattered glass at that moment. "So I'm the daughter you've been hoping for all this time, am I?" she demanded acerbically, her voice growing steadily louder with every word. "An illegitimate, green-skinned madwoman who you've been trying to have arrested or executed on one false charge after another- I feel so privileged, I really do. And in case you think I'm anywhere _near_ forgiving you for what you did to Doctor Dillamond and the rest of Oz's animal population, and what almost happened to Nessa and-"

Glinda was suddenly at her side. "He knows, Elphie," she whispered gently. "Don't lose your temper."

"How can I not?" Elphaba hissed back. "How am I supposed to just forgive everything he's done, everything he's gotten away with-"

"You don't have to. Just hear him out, and give him the list of demands." Her voice dropped to almost inaudible levels, as she added, "I think he might be open to persuasification this time." She winked slyly.

Elphaba offered a grateful smile in return; if there was anything to be said for Morrible's near-cannibalistic attitude towards her subordinates, it was that it had managed to sharpen Glinda's wits considerably. She was right: it wasn't the time to lose her temper, not when they might just be in a position to change Oz for the better.

So, she took a very deep breath, burying her wrath as best as she could for the moment, and asked, "Even if I did acknowledge you as my father, that doesn't mean you can start treating me as such, and certainly not publically; in case you've forgotten, I'm not exactly popular with the citizens of Oz at the moment, and I don't think even your influence can change that-"

"But it _can!"_ said the Wizard grandly. "I wasn't exaggerating when I told you that I could make the people see you as a hero, Elphaba; I have ways of changing public opinion, have no doubt about that. I could say that Dorothy finally managed to convince you to surrender, and I decided to grant you a generous pardon; _or,_ if that's not to your liking, I could use the Amnesia Defence- not as ridiculous as it sounds when you've got half the doctors in Oz willing to provide a false diagnosis. You see what I mean? With the proper excuse, I can have the citizens worshipping the very ground you walk on in less than a year! In fact, they'd be so amazed by the change in you they probably wouldn't even notice the Anti-Animal laws being repealed."

Elphaba blinked. "What?"

"That's what you want, isn't it? You want the Animals to be classified as citizens again, given homes, the right to equal pay and equal occupation... and I presume you would want the same rights extended to the Flying Monkeys as well?"

"You'd be willing to do that?"

"Of course!" A look of desperation flashed across the Wizard's eyes. "Anything! I'd even be willing to set up rehabilitation for the Animals that lost their ability to speak!"

_He's either gone completely mad, _Elphaba thought, _or he really does want me to be happy. And I could be just as delusional as he is, but he sounds as though he might be sincere in his promises. So... what else would be desirable?_

"Would... would you also consent to having Madame Morrible arrested?" she asked hesitantly. "On a charge of attempted murder, I mean."

The Wizard smiled accommodatingly. "I don't see why not. After Mr Chopper's rampage, I might be tempted to add a treason charge; even if she didn't intend to get me killed, Morrible will still be trialled for criminal negligence. There is one thing, though," he added. "Who's going to replace her as press secretary?"

"I'd suggest avoiding the usual parade of toadies and social climbers in favour of someone who can actually do their job."

The Wizard's gaze shifted to Glinda. "No," she said, emphatically.

"But surely you'd enjoy the benefits of the job. Besides," he added, his tone thick with flattery, "It's not as if you're not already equipped for the work- you're very influential with the public, and I get the feeling that you're a lot cleverer than Morrible gives you credit."

"Sorry, your Ozness, but I'm not interested in spending another minute of my time on the propaganda team; lying to the people of Oz just doesn't hold the appeality that it used to. Besides," she added, "the last thing I want is to end up like Morrible."

Elphaba laughed. "That doesn't mean he can't give you a job which doesn't involve the press; anything particular in mind, Glinda?"

"Oh, I'll think of something," Glinda trilled, a mischievous smirk gently spreading across her face.

"Very well then," the Wizard grumbled. "Are there any other favours I can grant?"

"About that offer of redemption you've already suggested," Elphaba began, trying to ignore the growing look of excitement in the Wizard's eyes. "I want it given to Nessarose instead," she finished.

The Wizard's jaw dropped. _"_Wait, _what?"_

"You heard well enough. Once Nessa's awake and she's had a week or two to recover, I want you to have her reintroduced to the people of Oz; you'll say that, thanks to some magical accident, she's sprung back to life, and you, being the fair and merciful ruler that you are, have decided to give her a second chance."

"But... but..." The Wizard floundered helplessly for several seconds, eventually gasping out the words; "But what about you?"

"That's very simple: once this discussion is over and done with, we fake my death. We destroy this castle, and make it look as though Boq and I were killed in the explosion; you return to the Emerald City, and reassure the people of Oz that the Wicked Witch of the West is well and truly dead, thanks to Glinda and Dorothy, while I go underground with Boq and Nessa. There's only one problem, though- I've run out of hiding places, so I'm going to need a reasonably isolated place that your guards haven't overturned."

The shocked expression hadn't left the Wizard's face. "You honestly want this?" he asked incredulously. "You _want_ to spend the rest of your life in hiding?"

"If it means that Nessa has a second chance at governorship, if it means that she doesn't have to spend the rest of _her_ life hiding, then yes; I do want this. I owe Nessa this much. Besides, I think you'd find it much easier to defend her actions than mine."

The Wizard sagged despairingly. "Elphaba, I could have you ruling the country beside me if that's what you want. Don't you think you deserve that much after all you've been through?"

_Roughly translated, you want me at your side as often as possible. You're very eager to play the doting parent, aren't you?_

"And Nessa doesn't?" Elphaba replied coldly. "Better yet, don't you think _you_ owe Nessarose after what you did to her?"

"Wh-what are you talking about?"

"The reason why my sister ended up in a wheelchair in the first place was because my f..." Elphaba stopped, and tried again. "... because _Frexspar _wanted to make sure that the next child wasn't born green. Now, I know you didn't intend to cause any of that- even I'm not that vindictive- but if you really want to convince me that you can change for the better, I think a good place to start would be to make amends for what happened thanks to your past... indiscretions."

There was a very long silence. "Very well," the Wizard sighed at last. "Once she's awake, I'll talk with her about it. As for your hiding place, I think the Catacombs might suit your needs well enough."

"The what?"

"The Catacombs; they're a network of underground passages and chambers built under the Emerald City. I use them mainly for- ahem- clandestine meetings, or as a way of getting in and out of the city without anyone noticing. Now, the only way to access these tunnels is through the palace cellars, and the guards don't patrol them without my permission, so I can guarantee that you won't have any unwanted guests. How does that sound?"

_And again, you want to keep me as close to you as possible. If I hadn't seen how far you'd go to try and save my life, I'd find that worrying..._

"It sounds reasonable enough," Elphaba said at last. "You'll presumably want the odd conversation now and again, so I shouldn't be surprised if you pay me a visit every now and again, should I?"

The Wizard offered a smile that was both hopeful and rueful. "Can you blame a father for wanting to keep an eye on his daughter?"

Elphaba cringed, and reluctantly shook her head. "There is one other thing I'm going to need, and that's access to any magical artefacts or books on magic that Madame Morrible might have been hoarding."

"May I ask why, exactly? I don't mean to pry, but if you have anything explosive in mind, I'll need to know in advance so I can have an excuse ready for any citizens asking why their pipes are belching fire."

"You didn't have much of a plan for sending Dorothy home, did you?"

"Point taken. In that case, she'll be given a room in the palace while you come up with a way of getting back to Kansas- one that doesn't involve ballooning." He sighed deeply. "Something tells me that this is going to be a _very_ busy month for the both of us..."

* * *

Sometime later, while Elphaba and the Wizard sketched out their plan to fake the death of one of Oz's most infamous criminals, Glinda left the room to stretch her legs. After a minute of aimlessly wandering the corridors, she found Dorothy and the others sitting in one of the nearby sitting rooms, chatting rather animatedly about life in Oz- or, in the Tin Man's case, writing notes about life in Oz.

_Boq,_ Glinda reminded herself, _his name is Boq._

All of them looked up expectantly as Glinda entered. "Are they still arguing?" the Scarecrow asked quietly.

"Not anymore. I think it's safe to go back in there now- they've been able to agree on a few things. In fact, once this is over with, Elphaba might actually have the time to help you get back to Kansas, Dorothy. In the meantime, could I borrow the Tin Man for a minute or two?"

Once the two of them were out of earshot, the smile almost immediately left Glinda's face. She'd been worrying and wondering about this moment ever since she'd learned just who the Tin Man had been, having remembered just how Boq had ended up in Nessa's service in the first place, but she knew she'd have to speak with him about it sooner or later. And truth to be told, she wanted to get it over and done with as quickly as possible, for the whole affair had given her yet another reason to look back on her days at Shiz with shame and disgust; not only had she taken great delight in annoying and embarrassing Elphaba right up until that night at the Ozdust, but she knew now that she'd also ended up ruining the lives of two people out of sheer thoughtlessness.

Really, why hadn't she just told Boq that she wasn't interested? Why had she been so intent on stringing him along?

She found herself absently surveying the Tin Man's ruined face, trying to recall Boq's appearance from the only piece of it that remained, to no avail. She remembered that he'd been short and skinny, but beyond that and the knitted cap he'd always worn, nothing came to mind. _Brilliant, _she thought, _I screwed up his life and I can't remember what he looked like beforehand._

Dragging herself away from her bitter reflections, she managed to speak, at last: "Boq," she began, acutely aware that she had almost called him 'Biq,' "I know who you were. I mean, I remember who you were- who you _are_, I mean, and... Oh _Oz..._"

Boq grimaced; it was obvious that he'd been dreading this just as much as she had.

"My point is," Glinda continued, trying desperately to remain coherent, "My point is that I know what happened to you and Nessa because of me, and... well, I just wanted you to know that I'm sorry. If I'd known what would have-"

Boq held up a hand, quickly scrawled a note on one of the scraps of paper that were somehow always within reach, and handed it to her. It read, _You've nothing to be sorry for. I could have told Nessarose why I invited her to the Ozdust when the time came, but I didn't; the blame rests with me. Besides, you were a different person back then._

"That's no excuse!"

_Maybe not, but you certainly matured a lot quicker than me. You changed as soon as you saw how upset Elphaba was; it took my transformation to make me realise how many lives I'd ruined._

"But you can't blame yourself for that- you couldn't have known that Nessa would do what she did-"

_Just like you couldn't have known that Nessa would become so attached to me, or that I'd be callous enough to break her heart. I know. In any event, for what it's worth, I forgive you._ Boq offered a rueful grin, and continued writing. _It's easy to be forgiven, though; the hard part is forgiving yourself. I mean, I could say that the deaths I caused while pursuing Dorothy were completely unavoidable, but that doesn't mean that I'd ever succeed in convincing myself._

"I suppose so."

_Question is what happens next? What have Elphaba and our favourite fraud agreed on?_

Glinda took a deep breath, and explained the various agreements as quickly as she could; by the time she was finished, Boq looked as pleased as his mangled face would allow. "There's just one thing, Boq: what's going to happen to you? I mean, if the Wizard actually manages to get the public to accept Nessarose and give her the post of governor again, she'll have all the bodyguards she'll need, so what are you going to do with yourself?"

_I don't know. But I get the feeling that those bodyguards aren't going to work for Nessa, at least not during the first few months- the same months when every Munchkin with a grudge will be looking to try and kill her._

"So you're going to keep working for her? Even while you're supposed to be faking your death?"

Boq grinned lopsidedly. _I can be very stealthy when I want to be,_ he wrote._ Besides, a few enchantments from Elphaba can make me almost invisible if she has the time and resources to cast them- which she will._

"That's true enough," Glinda admitted. "Perhaps she'll be able to give you the power to speak, too."

_Maybe just in time for Nessa to awaken, too!_

Boq beamed, his eternally crooked smile now undeniably hopeful. And in spite of herself, Glinda found herself smiling too; just a couple of short days ago, she'd been stuck in the role of mouthpiece for the Wizard and Madame Morrible, sick with guilt over what had happened to Fiyero and Elphaba, and living in terror of the newly-unveiled Tin Man. Now, here she stood, working with Elphaba and the Tin Man to make Oz a better place, with the Wizard rushing to comply with their every whim... and as if that weren't good enough, she now had the chance for a career that didn't involve her lying with every breath she could muster! Who could have believed that any of this could have been possible?

* * *

That morning, well before the sun had even thought of rising, nobody noticed a sleek black carriage speeding up the road towards the Emerald City, and then mysteriously disappearing into a nearby hillside.

However, everybody noticed what happened perhaps a minute later, for the furtive quiet of the City was shattered by the loudest explosion ever heard in recorded history; by the time the echoes had died away, not a single citizen remained asleep. As people crowded the streets, trying to discover the source of the noise, guards began reporting that a fireball had just been seen rising from the western horizon. Immediately, the citizens panicked, believing that the Wicked Witch of the West had just launched her final assault upon them- one that would scour the city from the face of Oz and leave only a charred mark for the Flying Monkeys to sneer at as they flew to conquer the rest of the country.

For twenty-three minutes, they panicked: some gathered what paltry belongings they could and fled for the city gates as fast as their legs could carry them; others, resigned to their deaths, strolled slowly home and waited for the end. However, all were surprised when nothing resulted from the mysterious explosion on the western sky.

Eventually, one of the guards decided to consult the Wizard of what had just happened, and returned, wide-eyed and grinning like a man deranged: he had been told that the Wicked Witch of the West, the enemy of all the free peoples of Oz, had finally met her well-deserved death; her loathsome emissary, the Tin Man, was dead as well, as were most of the abominations the two of them had commanded. The explosion the citizens had heard and seen was the Witch's castle, erupting at the moment of their demise- as if the building had been so cursed and decayed that without the twisted will of its inhabitants, the thing had simply blasted itself to pieces. And, the Wizard had proclaimed, this victory over the evils that had dare beset Oz was all thanks to Dorothy Gale and Glinda the Good!

Within minutes, the city was united in celebration: there was no planning or organisation to any of it- people simply took to the streets, laughing and cheering all the way, many of them flocking to bars and taverns, where relief-stricken bartenders were now selling drinks free of charge. For the next hour, the citizens of Oz, rich and poor alike, celebrated in only the wildest and unrestrained ways they possibly could, and why not? Their greatest heroes, the Good Witch and the Child From Another World, had put an end to the terror that had plagued them for so many years. If now wasn't the time for celebrating, then there never would be.

And before long, the guests of honour arrived: Glinda, Dorothy, the Lion and the Scarecrow, floating gently through the air in Glinda's personal bubble, touching down upon the steps of the palace where all of them welcomed as warmly and extravagantly as possible. There were immediately mobbed by a horde of reporters, photographers and other journalists, all of them hungry for a story; but Dorothy, Glinda and the Lion merely brushed the questions off with typical modesty, leaving the details of their heroism to be told by the Scarecrow, who went about his duties as unofficial storyteller with great enthusiasm.

It was during the retelling of this story that the Scarecrow presented the citizens with ultimate proof of Dorothy and Glinda's victory: the Wicked Witch's broomstick (scorched and missing most of its twigs) and the Tin Man's right arm (battered and dented, with its powerful fingers outstretched, as if it had died while reaching towards its one final victim). At the Wizard's request, these trophies were to be put on display in the Museum of Ozian History and Culture as part of an exhibition celebrating the end of the Witch's reign of terror- a fitting tribute to all those who had died in the intervening years, and a guarantee that the heroism of Glinda the Good and Dorothy Gale would never be forgotten. This proclamation immediately kicked off a fresh bout of celebration; if anything, this was even more riotous than the first.

By the time the sun set, the parties were still dragging on across the city; the speeches had been made, the many deaths mourned, and new songs were being written to commemorate the Witch's defeat- most of them punctuated with deafening choruses of "No-one mourns the wicked!" especially as the effigies of the Tin Man and the Witch were slowly burnt upon the bonfires. In fact, by now, the revelry was so thickly spread upon the streets and taverns of the Emerald City, that nobody (at least outside the elite cadre of guards sent to apprehend her) appeared to have noticed the fact that Madame Morrible was nowhere to be seen...

* * *

As a matter of fact, she'd left the capital and the rest of Oz quite a while ago: thanks to the alarm spells she'd placed around the gateway charm, it hadn't taken very long for Morrible to discover that Nicholas had been killed.

She hadn't known how much effort it had taken for Elphaba or the Tin Man to extinguish Chopper's life, she hadn't known many of the Witch's retinue he'd managed to kill before dying, she hadn't even known if the Wizard was still alive or not, and quite frankly, she hadn't cared. All Morrible had known- all she had _cared_ to know at that point- was that the Emerald City was no longer safe.

The good news was that the Wheel of Dimensionality was still an easy escape route; the bad news was that she hadn't the time to recalibrate it: with only a short window of opportunity before the inevitable coup took place, the best she could do was ready a few provisions and a makeshift survival suit and hope that she'd have enough oxygen to track down the other Oz's version of the Wheel before she asphyxiated. Fortunately, having spent some time in the other world before, she knew that the corridors under the ruined palace were still accessible, so she wouldn't need to bring a shovel or pickaxe.

And just before she'd left, walking creakily through the portal in her sewn-up oilskin greatcoat, gloves and gas mask, she'd removed the emerald from the centre of the Wheel and concealed it in the robes she wore under her coat; until her pursuers found an emerald of sufficient size and cut to replace it, they wouldn't be able to follow her.

Now, she stood at the very centre of the other Oz, amidst the tumbledown remains of the Emerald City, shivering even under all the layers of clothing she wore and trying desperately not to look at the sky. Nicholas had told her stories about how the sight of that sky, freshly stained red and black, had driven people mad, and though Morrible was loathe to believe this wild tale, she didn't like the look of those noxious clouds. And somehow, the fact that this poisonous, unnaturally-coloured sky inexplicably stopped at the borders of Oz only frightened her further: if it had spread to Ev, to Ix, to the Nome Dominions, to all the other countries, it would have been disastrous but it would have made sense. But it hadn't: the discoloured sky, the poisoned air, the dramatic swings in temperature, the rains of ash, none of it moved beyond the Deadly Desert, as if one of the two sides in the war had gone out of their way to make sure that Oz- and _only_ Oz- was beyond repair.

Morrible's first stay had lasted less than three hours in total, but it had been enough to keep her awake that night. On the upside, Nicholas was dead, so the other Oz was considerably less dangerous this time around; with no scavengers looting the ruins, no deranged survivalists trying to eke out a living, and nobody trying to rebuild, there was nobody to stop her from going about her business.

So, as soon she'd closed the portal, she set out across the ruins of the Emerald City, hobbling down the blasted streets as quickly as her old bones could manage; it wasn't easy, partly because of the massive heaps of rubble in the way, but mostly because her improvised survival suit was so damned _heavy._ But then again, the survival suit didn't present the unique horror that the rubble and debris did.

Everywhere she looked, there were bodies- perfectly preserved human corpses. Unnervingly enough, they looked more like life-sized porcelain dolls, with the exception of the sunken black pits where their eyes had once been. They lay in grotesque poses, their eerily smooth faces splattered with dried blood; Morrible didn't even want to imagine what might happen if she were to step on one of them, so she kept as far away from them as humanly possible. But she couldn't force herself to look away from the bodies; not only would that mean looking at that horrible sky, but it would probably result in her tripping over something and puncturing her suit. So she kept her eyes to the ground and tried to ignore the dead children staring eyelessly up at her.

It took half an hour, but she finally found an entrance to the palace (or what was left of it) that hadn't been barricaded, and to her relief, it wasn't far from the staircase that led to the vault. As she shuffled clumsily down the abandoned hallway, she wondered what new dimension she'd escape to; after all, with an infinite array of possibilities to choose from, there were plenty of worlds that were hospitable, even amongst all the unpleasant-

Morrible stopped short. Before her, the staircase leading to the vault had been barricaded.

How could this be? Not only was there literally no reason for anyone to bother to wall off a staircase leading to a vault full of next-to-useless junk (not including the Wheel of Dimensionality, of course), but who could have done this? The barricading looked quite recent, but Nicholas had told her that he was the last man alive in all of Oz, so unless he'd been lying or out of his mind, who could have done this? And why-

Something metallic collided with the back of her head; stars flashing before her eyes, she slowly toppled forward. And though the lenses of her gas mask prevented her from getting a good look at her attacker, she did manage to catch a glimpse of the weapon that she'd been struck with clattering noisily to the floor beside her.

It was a trophy, gold, well-polished, and flawless except for the dent that her skull had left in it; an inscription on its side read, "IN APPRECIATION OF ALL THAT YOU HAVE DONE." Somewhat unsurprisingly, this was a trophy that, once upon a time in another world, Morrible had been awarded with.

Morrible had just enough time to thank her lucky stars that she hadn't been hit with the base of the trophy before she slid gracelessly into unconsciousness.

She awoke to find herself lying on a battered old sofa, her gas mask lying beside her and a fresh bandage wrapped around her pounding head. And as if that wasn't enough, someone had cut open her survival suit and taken the central emerald from her robes.

As soon as her eyes had adjusted to the dim candlelight, she very rapidly took in as much of her surroundings as possible without getting to her feet: riveted iron walls, airlock doors, pallets of tinned food, and a great deal of scavenged furniture... obviously, this was some kind of shelter from the poisonous air and aggressive weather that now pervaded Oz. Judging by the nearby staircase leading up to a hatchway in the ceiling, this place was probably underground- exactly the reason why Nicholas hadn't known of it or the survivors that dwelled here.

Of course, that still didn't explain why they hadn't left the country when they'd had the chance, but that was incidental; the first and most important on Morrible's agenda at that moment was finding her way out of this refuge and getting through the barricade to the Wheel.

It was then that, as she was hauling herself awkwardly upright and trying to stop the room from spinning, Morrible noticed the _thing_ standing in the open doorway across from her- _watching her_. It bore an eerie resemblance to a terrier, with its short legs, upright ears and distinctively-shaped head, but that was where the similarities ended: from its tail to its muzzle, the animal was covered with thick black scales; its feet ended in long, curved claws, and its tiny eyes shone a dull red in the poor lighting of the shelter. For good measure, some wit had slipped a dog collar around its scaly neck.

The creature growled quietly, savaged her with a look of vague disdain, and trotted slowly away.

And then, from somewhere around the corner, a very old and hoarse voice said, "I take it that means our guest is awake." There was a deathly pause, and then the voice called cheerily, "Don't be shy! You're among friends here, Madame Morrible!"

Feeling as though her blood had turned to ice, Morrible staggered towards the source of the voice, through the door and into what appeared to be some kind of living room. In spite of her fear, she felt that she was more than prepared for the worst: now that the hammering in the back of her skull was beginning to fade, she was now capable of using her weather magic again. True, calling down a bolt of lightning on the shelter wouldn't be the most sensible of ideas, but the fact that she _could_ do it if need be gave her some awkward confidence.

Unfortunately, nothing could have prepared her for the apparition sitting in the centre of the living room, almost lost in the battered upholstery of a high-backed armchair.

Beneath the tattered robes it wore, its body was contorted with age and emaciated by starvation, its skin deathly pale and thick with spidery veins; its piercing eyes wept a constant stream of tarry black fluid, and above that, barely a few strands of greyish-blonde hair remained on its skull. But even with these hideous differentiations, there was no mistaking the fact that this was none other than Madame Morrible- her incarnation in this twisted version of Oz, to be precise.

"Not what you were expecting, I take it," croaked the Other Morrible.

"But... what are you doing here?" Morrible whispered back. "Nicholas Chopper said that you were-"

"Heading for the border and sure to die in the attempt; I know all about that, my dear- I was watching your first little meeting with Mr Chopper. But Dorothy and I made it that far before just every single border patrol declared us unfit to join the other refugees; most of the neighbouring kingdoms didn't want anything to do with the chief instigatiators of the war, and the Nomes... well, you probably know how much the Nomes hate anyone remotely associated with the Wizard. So, we were forced back here, back amongst the dead, back with Chopper."

"Is that why you're..." Morrible swallowed, and indicated her double's ooze-dripping eyeballs.

"Of course; that's the trouble with these survival suits- they're not meant for someone as old and clumsy as I am. Dorothy stayed safe; Toto and Chistery were a touch warped by thaumaturgical radiation, but they survived without any lingering health issues. But me, I kept falling over, bursting stitches and exposing myself to more and more of the gas, until..." Other Morrible sighed. "It's a matter of months, I suppose. But enough about me- let's talk about you."

"What exactly is there to talk about? I'm facing political upheaval at home, so I came here attempting to locate the Wheel of-"

"Dimensionality," Other Morrible finished smugly. "I was the one who removed it from the cellars. It's currently in safe storage in this very shelter, away from prying eyes."

Morrible silently rejoiced. All she had to do was keep her double talking for as long as possible while she surveyed the room for hiding places. "And were you the one who knocked me out?" she asked.

"No, that was Chistery- I was the one who bandaged your skull. But tell me, _my dear_," and suddenly, the woman's voice took on a particularly menacing note, "exactly what sordiditive purpose did you spirit young Chopper away for, and what political upheaval were you fleeing? And what exactly has become of our favourite pupil- what has become of Elphaba in your dimension?"

Morrible shuddered; somehow, having the words "my dear" used in the exact same tone of voice she'd often used with the rare and particularly unusual students made her feel very uncomfortable. "I hardly think that's any business of yours," she said defensively. "After all, it's not as if she's _your_ favourite pupil."

"True, but I've seen enough of you to know that you are almost identical to me in almost every respect- making your version of Elphaba just as much my apprentice as she is yours. Or, as the case may be, "was." So, what has happened to our mutual apprentice? I would presume it has something to do with Mr Chopper, yes?"

"I don't know," Morrible admitted. "I sent Chopper in as a bodyguard to the Wizard- he was going to negotiate with Elphaba, and I needed someone who'd be immune to her magic, and... well, just forty-five minutes ago, I Chopper's lifesigns went dead. I don't know who survived the encounter."

The Other Morrible's face darkened. "So," she whispered, "Elphaba might very well be dead. And it's clear that you're _exactly _as I was. I'd hoped for someone far wiser- someone less willing to sacrifice those she admired to save her career, someone who'd been brave enough to stand by Elphaba against the Wizard, someone who'd had the vision to safeguard the most exceptional talent in all of Oz. But no, here you stand, a betrayer, a murderer, _and_ a coward."

"And exactly what gives you the right to judge? What makes you any better than me?"

"_I_ learned!" the double snarled loudly. "I have had the time to reflect on every single mistake I made in my life, and I have repented every one of them! And more to the point, I never ran away from political upheaval; I at least attempted a truce. But _you,_ you-"

There was a muffled yawn from what appeared to be a small mound of blankets and seat cushions beside the angry double's chair; from under the tattered covers, a bedraggled-looking child emerged, and in spite of all the dirt and all the grime, it was impossible not to recognise Dorothy Gale's face. "Wha's happ'ning?" the girl mumbled sleepily.

Other Morrible's demeanour underwent a sudden metamorphosis: the anger left her face immediately, and was replaced with an expression of... _concern?_ "Nothing to worry about, Dorothy," she said soothingly. "You just go back to sleep, now."

Reluctantly, the Other Dorothy lay down once again- just in time for the Other Morrible to begin swiftly chanting one of the gentler sleep-spells in her repertoire. "There," she said eventually, "Now neither of us will be able to disturb her. The child needs her sleep, after all."

"Let me guess," Morrible sneered. "You've adopted her. Or better yet, you've taken her as a student."

"I've done my best to repent," the double answered coldly. "But for Toto, Chistery and the few surviving monkeys, we were alone. I did my best to protect her, kept her indoors as often as possible... and I tried to keep her from losing hope. But how exactly do you comfort a child whose only chance to go home has been smashed to pieces before her eyes? How do you reassure a child when she knows that, in a few months, she'll be all alone except for a pet she no longer knows how to care for?" A smile crept over her face. "But perhaps you can help me there..."

"No," said Morrible firmly. "I'm just here to use the Wheel to get to a safe dimension- that way, I'll be out of your hair, and you won't have to be reminded of your past mistakes."

The smile grew considerably. "Something you should be aware of, my dear- the Wheel is badly damaged: not only has it taken your arrival to provide me with a replacement emerald of suitable size and cut, but the spokes are so bent that it'll take weeks for the energies to build up enough to create a portal. So," she spread her withered arms grandly, "It appears you'll be staying in our humble abode for the next few months. Make yourself at home; if you like you can help Dorothy in her studies. She's a bright little girl, perhaps even bright enough to learn magic. How does that sound?"

Morrible sighed in disgust. "One star pupil was enough for me," she remarked dismissively, turning to leave. "If you're so desperate for another one that you're willing to substitutiate the one true magical prodigy you were lucky enough to encounter with some farmhouse brat, then that's _your_ problem. In the meantime, I'm going find the Wheel and see if you're just as inept as you are ins-"

A deep, echoing rustle of leathery wings drowned out the last of Morrible's words; she had less than a moment to glance frantically around her for the source of the noise, before six vaguely human-shaped blurs shot out of the darkness and ploughed headlong into her. As the shapes swarmed over her, she caught glimpses- brief, horrifying glimpses- of luminous eyes and mouths filled with bloodied, broken teeth, and faces just simian enough to be identified as those of the Flying Monkeys. It took said flying monkeys a little under five seconds to wrestle her to the ground; by the time Morrible had managed to get her face out of the floor, they were already tying her limbs together, and her double was rising awkwardly from her chair with a familiar-looking artefact clutched in her claw-like hands. "Well, you wanted it," she said smugly. "Here it is: the Wheel of Dimensionality. Tell me, does it look damaged to your expert eyes? Does it look as though I was lying or incompetent in my initial assessation?"

As if in answering, the Wheel's crooked spokes appeared to glow faintly, illuminating the artefact's many dents and scars; at its centre, the new emerald glittered eerily as new energies very slowly poured themselves into the Wheel's damaged structure. Her double had been right: this thing wouldn't be ready to conjure another gateway for at least a month. And more to the point, the magic it was conducting was moving somewhat differently...

Without warning, a beam of painfully bright light spiralled out of one of the spokes and poured itself into Morrible's eyes; as she reared back, wincing in discomfort, _something_ appeared inside her mind, amongst her thoughts: a vision of her own life, from childhood to adulthood, ending with her escape through the portal. Almost eighty years of existence had paraded before her mind's eye, but when the light finally faded and allowed her to see again, she found that only a second had passed. "What happened?" she gasped. "What did you just do?"

"It's a strange thing," the Other Morrible said quietly. "I couldn't get it to create a proper gateway without an emerald, but it could still pierce the dimensional membrane easily enough, and with a little bit of improvisation, it could show me the other worlds in all their glory... or decay. You see, the history of those worlds was recorded in their very substance- including the eight short decades that you and I have occupied." She ran a finger along the curve of the Wheel, and another blast of light shot into Morrible's eyes: this time, it was a vision of her counterpart's life, and up until Glinda's unexpected death and the civil war, it was almost identical to her own. And this time, the vision didn't just hurt her eyes; her head was beginning to ache.

Her double wasn't finished talking, though: "I observed so many permutations of my life, so many different possibilities, so many worlds in which I stood by Elphaba's side; and it was through them that I learned the error of my ways. And since you've made it clear that you haven't the slightest bit of remorse for your failure," she said, a wicked grin slowly curling across her ruinous face, "I think it's time for a bit of personal reflection."

"But I-"

Another beam of temporally-impregnated light lanced out of the Wheel's spokes and into Morrible's face, and immediately, the mild headache suddenly blossomed into a screaming, wailing pain in the back of her skull. And just as she was wondering how she could possibly feel any worse about the situation, the vision arrived in her mind's eye: once again, it was the life of yet another incarnation of herself from some faraway dimension, and it was so very much like the previous two that she scarcely paid any attention up until the end. And because she hadn't been paying attention, she was not prepared for the sight of Elphaba slumped against the grimy wall of a holding cell, her wrists cut and one last triumphant smirk etched upon her face. And with a thrill of shock and dismay, Morrible knew that this was a version of Elphaba who'd been captured less than a few months into her "reign of terror," only to martyr herself in her cell- both ensuring a rebellion among her supporters, and avoiding any chance of being guided back into the Wizard's service.

The moment the vision had ended, Morrible screamed, "Why did you make me watch that?"

"I thought I stated everything with perfect claritication, my dear; you need to understand the breadth and depth of your failure. What you saw could have just as easily happened to you had you succeeded in capturing Elphaba. In the end, it all stems from you abandoning Elphaba to the tender mercies of the guardsmen- as you'll see..."

Morrible saw her double's hands moving upon the Wheel, and had just enough time to shout "No!" before another vision roared out at her. "STOP!" she cried, her mind dominated by the sight of Elphaba kneeling brokenly on the scaffold as the executioner brought his axe swinging down on her defenceless neck. "PLEASE STOP!"

"So you _do_ have some twisted affection left for your pupil? Or do you just want to spare your mind the pain of being exposed to the very fabric of history? Let's find out..."

"Please," Morrible begged, "I promise to help you in whatever way you demand- I'll even help you tutor Dorothy- just please don't show me anything else!"

Her double shook her head sadly. "Grovelling will do you no good, my dear. If I were to set you free and set you to work, I could only expect the same amount of loyalty you showed Elphaba and the Wizard- none. This way, you become worthy of my trust. This way, you have a chance of learning your lesson. Of course," she added, "There's an even better chance you might lose what little of your mind you have left. But then again, redemption never comes without effort, as they say."

She tapped the side of the Wheel, and the visions began pouring out of the spokes and into Morrible's defenceless psyche; this time, she was unable to hold back a scream.

Somewhere in the background, over her own wails of horror, she heard her double muttering, "Personally, I don't think you have what it takes to survive your penance with your sanity intact. But for your sake, I hope you prove me wrong..." She chuckled darkly. "I doubt you will..."

* * *

_Worlds away..._

Nessarose was vaguely aware that she was dreaming; it was a very diffused and hazy kind of awareness, for she wasn't entirely sure when or even _where_ she'd fallen asleep. The dreams themselves were little more than blurred images, the last and most coherent of them being the sight of a house dropping out of the sky to land on top of her with an ear-splitting crash. But it was after this that she slowly began to float back towards reality.

The return to wakefulness was slow and painful, for her body felt as though it had been tied to the back of a cart and dragged through a field of thornbushes. It was the worst of these pulsing aches- the one across her back, to be precise- that forced her eyes open. As soon as her eyes had stopped interpreting candles as miniature suns, Nessarose found herself lying in bed, almost up to her neck in blankets. Though she couldn't tell exactly where she was- her eyes still hurt and everything more than three feet away blurred into nothingness- she could tell that she was still wearing the Ruby Slippers: their warmth was too distinctive to forget.

Groaning wearily, she tried to sit up, but her arms didn't have the strength to lift her any further than a few inches before she slumped helplessly back into bed. Great Oz, what had happened to her? How long had she been asleep?

She replayed the last of her memories as best as she could: as far as she could recall, there'd been a gathering of some kind, and she'd been addressing a crowd of Munchkins. In fact, she'd been about to announce some kind of drastic overhaul of Munchkinland's laws- at Elphaba's suggestion. What was it she'd said? Oh yes, "You might need political support soon." And, Nessa remembered with sudden sorrow, she'd said that just after Boq had run away. Well, whatever the case, a great deal of her announcement had been drowned out by the booing and jeering of the crowd, and just as the noise had died down a bit and she was ready to try again, something had happened.

A house had fallen on her.

A _house_ had descended from the heavens, and Nessarose had lost consciousness to the tune of the whole thing landing on top of her.

Well, it was no wonder that her entire body hurt; but how had she even survived? Who had rescued her? She knew for a fact that among the Munchkins, her popularity lay somewhere between "tuberculosis" and "child molester," so it wasn't likely that any of her citizens had been forgiving enough to save her life. Had Elphaba somehow arrived in time to rescue her?

She tried to get her eyes to focus on the room around her, but the haziness refused to leave her vision, so she resorted to the age-old tactic of calling "Hello? Is anyone there?" in the hope that someone would hear. And to her surprise, someone did; beyond the fog that surrounded her head, a human shaped-blur got its feet, and began tiptoeing towards her.

A moment later, a face drifted into view, and for a moment, Nessarose thought that she now had hallucinations to worry about: not only was the face itself made of _metal_, but at least half of it was little more than a skull. Then she looked closely at the other half of the face, at the concerned frown and the peculiarly familiar features; from the depths of her memories, an image floated into the front of her mind- of the owner of the face, horribly disfigured and mewling in pain as the botched spell twisted his body further and further out of shape.

"Boq?" she whispered softly. "Is that you?

The face blinked with its one remaining eyelid. Then, it nodded.

Nessarose felt as though the bottom had dropped out of her stomach; she'd seen just how badly her second attempt at using magic had gone just before Boq had left the mansion, but she hadn't expected it to come to _this._

"Oh Boq," she said, scarcely able to speak around the lump in her throat, "I'm so sorry- I didn't mean to... I didn't want to do this to you, I just..."

Boq, unable or unwilling to speak, put a silencing finger to his lips. Then, after a moment of scribbling, he held up a note; it read _You did the best you could. I don't blame you for saving my life... and besides, I've had a lot of time to think on my own mistakes, and I know you wouldn't have even used the Grimmerie in the first place if I hadn't broken your heart. _

Just as Nessa was absorbing the fact that Boq had also lost the ability to speak during the transformation, a few logical conclusions slowly began to percolate through the many layers of sorrow and remorse around her mind. "You were the one who saved my life," she said at last. "Weren't you?"

If Boq had still possessed blood, he would have blushed. _I was __**one**__ of them,_he wrote. _I found you and brought you to Elphaba; she deserves the praise for healing you._

"But you came back for me," said Nessarose, unable to hide the awe in her voice. "You could have left me behind after all I'd done to you, but you came back for me." And she knew that, in that moment, she would have kissed him had she had the strength in her arms to make herself level with Boq's face.

Then, from the other side of the room, there was the sound of a door opening and shutting. There was a pause, and then a familiar voice shouted, "NESSA!" A split second later, Elphaba materialised next to Boq, her face almost incandescent with joy; clearly too excited to even speak, she drew Nessarose into a crushing embrace. Once she was sure that her sister hadn't accidentally broken any of her ribs, Nessa opened her mouth to ask where they were and how long she'd been asleep, when she saw that Elphaba's face was streaked with tears.

She tried to remember the last time she'd seen her sister crying, and realised that she hadn't seen anything of the like since she was a child; all things considered, Elphaba had been very good at covering her sorrow with anger, so what could have possibly prompted this display of emotion? Had she really been that close to death?

"You have no idea how glad I am to see you awake," said Elphaba hoarsely.

"I might have some idea," said Nessarose. "Uh, not to sound rude or anything, but how long have I been asleep?"

"A little over eighteen days."

"_Eighteen days?_ But what's been happening in the meantime?"

"Well, the Munchkins are still celebrating your death."

"My... oh." Nessa thought carefully, absorbing this latest detail. "Well, I suppose nobody expected me to survive having a house dropped on me. But shouldn't the celebrations have died down by now? I mean, I know I haven't been popular with the Munchkins, but surely the parties couldn't have lasted eighteen straight days?"

"True enough," Elphaba admitted. "But they've gotten caught up in celebrating _my_ death as well."

Nessarose took a very deep breath. "Okay," she said at last. "You've either faked your death, or I'm as dead as I feel..."

Elphaba smiled awkwardly. "I'll explain everything as soon as I can," she said. "In the meantime, there's somebody who's been asking to see you- to interview you, to be specific. He'll help me explain things as best as possible... and he's also got a job offer."

* * *

Though the Ruby Slippers allowed her to move without the aid of a wheelchair, they hadn't quite shielded her from the effects of spending seventeen whole days in a coma. Apparently, ocular and muscular atrophy was something which their healing powers simply hadn't had the time to deal with, what with knitting her bones back together and stopping malnourishment or dehydration from creeping in. However, after fifteen minutes, Nessarose had regained enough strength in her limbs to totter out of bed and into a chair. She'd also recovered her eyesight, allowing her to see her surroundings clearly for the first time:

Most of it consisted of stark brick walls and bare stone floors, but since moving in, Elphaba had evidently had the time and resources to add a few creature comforts: however, what startled Nessarose was how expensive said creature comforts looked: the beds, the chairs, the desk, the rugs, the shelves- all of them were of the highest possible quality. There was even an oil painting of the Emerald City hanging over Elphaba's desk. According to both her and Boq, these had been gifts from the same "benefactor" who'd managed to secure this hideout in the first place. Apparently, it was an underground chamber beneath the Emerald City, far away from guards or prospective witch-hunters. It was down here that the three of them had been living for the last fifteen days- Boq standing guard, and Elphaba poring over various tomes and contraptions of magic- "taken from Morrible's own collection," she claimed.

All in all, Nessarose wasn't sure what her sister was doing anywhere near the Emerald City, or with anything stolen from Madame Morrible's belongings, but hopefully an explanation was on the way. So, as she waited, she sat and helped herself to her first breakfast in almost three weeks: although the Ruby Slippers could easily keep her from starving to death, they couldn't do a thing for actual hunger.

Eventually, the heavy iron door to the hideout rumbled open, allowing her "interviewer" to hurry inside. At first glance he seemed little more than a short, stocky older gentleman in a long grey coat and a top hat; closer examination revealed the gold watch chain at his waist and the gold spectacles on his nose. Evidently, whoever this man was, he had a certain degree of wealth at his disposal; was he a businessman of some kind? A politician? And what kind of job would he be offering?"

Pausing only to say hello to Elphaba and Boq, he turned immediately to Nessarose, a pleased-looking smile inching across his round face. "Well," he said warmly, "You must be Nessa; very pleased to meet you." He leaned forward, and shook her hand. "We haven't met before, but I'm very certain you've heard of me; I am-"

Elphaba cleared her throat loudly. "Real name before titles, please," she reminded him.

The man winced. "My name is Oscar Zoroaster Diggs. But," he said, drawing himself up proudly, "I am known in Ozian society as-"

"The Wizard," finished Elphaba smoothly. "Also known as The Wizard of Oz, the Great Oz, His Ozness, and other associated titles."

Nessarose gaped; she'd had an awful lot of shocks in the last few minutes, but this was the worst of them. At the moment, the only question that came to mind other than "Huh?" and "What?" was "What happened to all the fire and lightning I've heard about in the newspapers?" But the one she eventually voiced once she'd stopped gawping was "You've spent the few years opposing the Wizard... and now _he's your benefactor?"_

The Wizard gave Elphaba a quizzical look. "You haven't told her about me being y-"

"Not yet," she snapped. "She's got enough on her plate at the moment. Just give her some time to process things before you start piling on more unpleasant truths."

"Right, fair enough. But the point is, Nessa, your sister and I have undergone a period of very successful negotiation, and we are now at peace. As far as the rest of Oz is concerned, the Wicked Witch of the West is dead, and the anti-Animal laws that Elphaba took issue with in the first place have all been carefully subtracted. However, this meeting is about _your _standing in Oz at present."

"Me? I thought I was officially dead as well."

"That's true, but at Elphaba's suggestion, I think it might just be possible for you to, uh..." The Wizard thought carefully for a moment. "... to undergo a resurrection of sorts, if you'll pardon the dramatics; my point is, it might be possible for you to become Governor again."

For the second time in as many minutes, Nessarose' jaw dropped. "You can do that?" she asked. "You can give me the position? How would that work in any sense? I mean, they hated me- they probably still do. How can I return to governing when half of them want to see me dead all over again and the rest are willing to actually do the job?"

"I _can_ grant you a full platoon of guards, if you don't feel safe-"

Boq cleared his throat. He was holding a note that read, _I'm ready to do my part as unofficial bodyguard._

Nessa smiled, feeling a little better for the support. "It's not just my safety I'm worried about," she continued. "I messed everything up when I was last in power. How am I supposed to make the slightest bit of difference if I'm just sent back into the fray? There's a good chance I'll just make it even worse than before."

"Have a little faith in yourself, Nessa," Elphaba chided. "I've seen your records; you actually handed the governing competently enough... until you tried to keep Boq from leaving by rewriting the law. And since I assume we don't have to worry about anything like that, a good way to start the business of governing again would be to reinstate those laws."

"Just think of it!" said the Wizard grandly. "Just imagine the titles they'll give you: Nessarose the Reformer! Nessarose the Just! Nessarose the Generous-"

Elphaba groaned. "Not now, please; it's too early in the morning for grandeur."

"Sorry. But my point is, you'll have your old life back; true, it'll be a touch lonely at first, and yes, you'll probably be given a wheelbarrow-sized piece of humble pie to eat, but you will be able to have the option of returning to public life and make reparations. How does that sound?"

Nessa thought of all the loneliness she'd endured in her last stint in office, of all the frustrations and the soul-crushing red tape she'd been forced to tolerate, of the mistrustful citizens and whining bureaucrats she'd interviewed, and quietly added the justifiable hatred of a people she'd mistreated and oppressed for far too long without repercussions. Then she looked back on it all, and knew that this time, she at least had real support: Elphaba was there for her. _Boq_ was there for her. And maybe, just ever-so possibly, she could actually manage to make some kind of a difference, and be remembered not with hatred and disgust but... well, she couldn't expect fondness, so perhaps acceptance would be reasonable. _Did he even have to ask?_ she thought.

"I think that sounds wonderful," said Nessarose at last. "I don't mind the humility business. And I think if Boq's with me, I'll be fine. But I do have one question; what's going to happen to Elphaba?"

"I'm staying down here," said Elphaba simply.

"What, _alone?"_

"Of course; if Boq's going with you, then I'm not likely to have any other visitors... well, other than Dorothy and the Scarecrow." She noticed the perplexed look on Nessarose' face, and added, "I'll get to who they are in a minute."

"You'll be staying down here for the rest of your life?"

"I _will_ leave, every now and again- to get a breath of fresh air, and to see you, obviously. You do not need to worry about me. Okay? Do you have any further questions before we get down to more general explanations?"

Nessarose smiled awkwardly. "Yes: what were you stopping the Wizard here from talking about? Because, if it's any comfort, I think my plate is clear for the moment."

* * *

Once the explanation had been made, the Wizard left briefly to collect the necessary paperwork; in the brief silence that followed, Nessarose found herself turning to Elphaba and asking, "Why didn't you accept the offer of amnesty?"

Elphaba shrugged. "I just felt it was time I did something that would actually guarantee you a better life; I remember that argument you and I had all those weeks ago and-"

Nessa blushed furiously. "Elphaba, I was being a brat then-"

"No, Nessa; you were talking perfect sense. Whenever you needed me, I was as far away as possible: I wasn't there when you were crushed by the house; I wasn't the one who found and rescued you- in fact, if Boq hadn't been there, you'd have probably died from your injuries or from whatever horrid thing the Munchkins would have done with your body. Besides, you deserve a second chance far more than I do; something tells me you can handle the publicity better."

"Of course," said Nessa bitterly. "I'm tragically beautiful. I'll have their sympathy from day one." She noticed the pained expression on Elphaba's face and sighed. "Great Oz, Elphaba, I'm sorry. Why do I keep _doing_ that? Whenever you something for me, I always whine that it's not enough, and-"

"You did that exactly_ once_," said Elphaba gently. "In any event, I think we can all forgive ourselves for the parts we played. I don't think anyone was blameless in what happened, but to be brutally honest, I'll just be happy knowing that you can survive this debacle without spending the rest of your life in a bunker like this."

She was getting to her feet when Nessarose suddenly reached out and hugged her around the waist. "Thank you," she whispered. "For all that you've done for me, for all that you put up with, for _everything_."

* * *

A week later, the serenity that had been gently accumulating across the cities of Oz was shattered by the announcement that the Wicked Witch of the East had been found alive and well in the Emerald City. Immediately, the cry of "Wickedness Must Be Punished" sounded across Oz, as hundreds of thousands of people (many of them Munckins) began demanding justice. As such, the newspapers that day were filled with nothing but official statements on how the Witch had survived, what was going to happen to her, the dates of her trial, and summaries of her many crimes.

When the trial finally arrived, not a single seat in the courtroom was empty, for there'd been so many people willing to see the Witch justly punished- along with those of them very curious to know what she actually looked like, for unlike her sister, the Wicked Witch of the East had been unaccountably shy. However, these thrillseekers were rather surprised when said defendant turned out to be a pallid, frail-looking woman in (of all things) a _wheelchair._ And far from being the explosive madwoman spoken of in rumour, she remained quiet throughout the trial until called upon, her eyes downcast and her hands clasped in her lap.

And then, just when the audience and the journalists were beginning to regain their composure, they were once again shocked and stunned when the judge revealed the Witch's real name: Nessarose Thropp. And furthermore, they were utterly flabbergasted when she pleaded guilty to all charges.

When the time came for the sentence to be pronounced, the Judge dropped a final bombshell on the court by announcing that the Wizard had decided to grant clemency: the Wicked Witch of the East would not be executed or jailed, but put on probation. She would be allowed to take back her position as governor of Munchkinland- under strict supervision, of course- and given a chance to redeem herself.

For once, the public honestly wasn't sure what to think: true, they trusted the Wizard's judgement, but surely the Witch couldn't be trusted so readily... and yet, nobody who'd been present at the trial and seen the photographs taken of it could forget the sight of her sitting alone in her wheelchair, looking as if she were about to cry.

(Unbeknownst to all, the Wizard triumphantly punched the air at this bit of news: "Another victory for propaganda!" he laughed.)

Even the Munchkins couldn't work up the certainty to organise a protest when it came time for the newly-dubbed Governor Nessarose to meet her constituents; instead, they simply glared stonily up at her, and listened as she gave yet another speech apologising for all she had done and promising better things for Munchkinland.

That night, the first assassination attempt occurred: according to the only witness (the assassin himself), he'd abseiled down the chimney of Nessarose' mansion, made sure that nobody in the building was awake, and then attempted to stab the sleeping governor to death. Apparently, he hadn't gotten much further than raising his knife over her back, because he woke up twelve hours later to find himself tied up on the front doorstep of the local barracks, with a lump on the back of his head the size of a golf ball.

Next week, halfway through a press conference with the Governor and other high-ranking officials, another would-be-assassin was found hanging upside down from the balcony he'd been planning to shoot the ex-Witch from. When questioned, he admitted that he didn't know who'd attacked him; all he knew was that he'd been ready to take the shot just before someone or something had hit him very hard in the back.

For the next three weeks, this trend of failed assassination attempts continued; gunmen, hangmen, bombers, knife-wielding psychopaths, poisoners- all of them met the governor's mysterious bodyguard, and all of them failed in their self-imposed missions. In the end, the assassination attempts gradually petered out, and the Munchkins began to accept the fact that for better or for worse, Governor Nessarose was there to stay. For a time, the more discontented Munchkins concerned themselves with various rumours- that Nessarose had stolen the Ruby Slippers from Dorothy Gale; that the mysterious bodyguard was actually a ghost she'd dragged out of the netherworld and enslaved; or that Nessarose had somehow managed to resurrect her infamous sister and was planning a coup.

Of course, nobody really believed the last one.

But as the weeks turned into months, the Munchkins found it harder and harder to dismiss Nessarose as a reclusive witch, particularly when she finally regained enough of her health to leave her wheelchair and go on long excursions to the villages and towns of her constituents. Though it was rumoured that her phantom bodyguard always followed her closely on these little trips, nobody could deny that the woman herself seemed friendly enough, if a little bit awkward at times. The one attempt to publically decry her as a lunatic and a tyrant on one of the outings went spectacularly awry when a lucky photojournalist got a shot of the hurt expression on the governor's face; that, along with the abolition of certain oppressive laws, was the death knell of "The Wicked Witch of the East."

From then on, she was known simply as Governor Nessarose; as public opinion of her became more and more affectionate, that changed to "Nessa."

Then, her birthday arrived, and for the first time in years, the governor's mansion welcomed guests- some of them local officials and landowners, others numbering among the nobles and industrialists of the Emerald City and Gilikin Country. Some of them were well-acquainted with their reformed governor, others knew so little about her that they'd decided to attend simply to see just how much the "Wicked Witch of the East" had changed. The Wizard himself had even sent Glinda the Good on his behalf- perhaps to recruit Nessarose for the national magical education program she was rumoured to be heading.

All in all, the evening promised to be a night to remember.

* * *

From the upstairs landing, concealed beneath his newest enchantments, Boq watched as Nessa strolled about the entrance hall, the disguised Ruby Slippers on her feet. She chatted cordially with the guests, and though they treated her pleasantly enough in return, they all took great care not to mention anything of her past. It was good to see her safe and happy, but it still nauseated Boq to see so many people needlessly treading on eggshells around the woman he loved.

But at least there was something to look forward to afterwards, once the boozing and pretentiousness was over and done with and the guests had gone home; a _private_ birthday party, attended only by those closest to her: Elphaba, Glinda, Fiyero, Dorothy, and the Wizard. Quite apart from the fact that it would do Nessa good to see her sister again, Boq was curious to see what Elphaba had been researching; after all, Nessarose had gone out of her way to hint that Elphaba had been trying to construct new, organic bodies for him and Fiyero.

Boq smiled quietly to himself, ignoring the drunken magistrate trying to walk through the stairs beneath him; all the work he'd done, all the bloodshed he'd had to commit and atone for, it had all payed off. In fact, maybe his disastrous transformation had been worth it as well; perhaps it had been the best thing that could have happened to him.

Even if he could never replace the mangled tin body he currently owned, he'd never regret the fact that his life had changed for the better because of it- and because of that one mistake Nessa had made...


End file.
